


Just Merry

by HeidiErickson



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abusive Relationships, All the cheesy romance tropes you've seen are most likely in here, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Angsty Schmoop, Anxiety, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon Divergence, Class Differences, Depression, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Secrets, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love/Hate, Mary Sue at first but later improved, Mental Health Issues, Middle Earth, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Mystery Character(s), Not Actually Unrequited Love, Occasional Inaccuracy in Hobbit Culture, Other, Period-Typical Sexism, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suspense, The Shire, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiErickson/pseuds/HeidiErickson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about love and loss, pain and betrayal, and second chances. Meriadoc Brandybuck has returned to the Shire with his friends after the War of the Ring, ready to settle back into his old life, hiding the pain of his unrequited love for Éowyn.</p><p>Just as he thinks life is about to get mundane and pointless, a wild-eyed Hobbit lass bumps into him, not once, but twice, and before he realizes it, he finds himself in the middle of a great mystery and peril that may affect the lives and future of the people of his home . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bittersweet Merry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merry heart bursts with joy and breaks into a million pieces all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I first published this on FFnet (under the same pen name: Heidi Erickson) on March 9, 2010, and last updated this on December 22, 2011. In total, there are 22 completed and published chapters, with 6 more to go. 
> 
> This year, I intend to finish this once and for all; it’s too close to be finished for me to give up on. :-) And so, I am starting fresh by publishing and updating at least weekly, or once every two weeks, as well as updating this on FFnet and working on finishing this LOTR fanfic that is pretty much the only full-length novel I have (almost) completed since I was fourteen.
> 
> And with that, I introduce you to “Just Merry” a story about love and loss, pain and betrayal, and second chances. I hope you enjoy your journey in this story. :-)
> 
> (Keep in mind: this was first written when I was 17 - 18. I am now 23. My writing style and openness to the world has changed quite significantly . . . I only hope you will give me a chance should you enjoy this anyway! :-)
> 
> Thanks to mecherry and DancingRaindrops (from FFnet) for being my beta readers (mecherry for chapters 1 - 2, 5, 8 - 9, 11, 14, & 16 and DancingRaindrops for chapter 7! I appreciate all your help! :-)

Meriadoc Brandybuck stared desolately at the golden-haired Rohan maiden, joining her hands into the strong hands of the smiling, handsome young general of Gondor.

She deserved him, Merry had to admit. He was a Man. Not a Hobbit. And Faramir and Éowyn had a lot in common: shunned by life and love for different reasons, a hate for war but desire for freedom. They were a sad, serious, but a compassionate, tender, and kind couple.

Merry bit his lip and looked away when Faramir leaned down to press a light kiss to Éowyn's lips. Aragorn proclaimed them man and wife. With these words, Merry exhaled loudly. Fortunately, the wild cheering of the crowd drowned out his heavy sigh.

Next to him, his best friend Peregrin Took nudged him in concern. "Pippin", as most called him, wasn't as naïve as some made out of him. The entire time, he'd known of Merry's "slight infatuation" with Lady Éowyn. Lady Éowyn was intelligent and shrewd, but for some reason, she never noticed the stars in Merry's eyes whenever he looked up at her.

Maybe the reason was that Merry was able to _hide_ it. Merry was always able to hide his feelings—except for anger and frustration. Merry always pretended what Éowyn really felt—platonic love. Éowyn looked down to Merry as an advocate, a friend she could confide in. A hero in battle, who'd ridden with her, slaying Oliphaunts, Orcs, and eventually the Witch-king of Angmar.

Now his "friend" was getting married. Merry knew, of course, it was inevitable. He knew he'd never get to marry a Woman. He knew he'd never have his feelings returned.

The problem was: he'd denied it all. And now, because of his denial, his heart was paying a heavy toll.

Merry's infatuation with Éowyn had developed when she gave him the armor in the tents of Dunharrow, when she'd smiled at him, laughed with him, and sent him to the smithy to sharpen his dull blade. At that time, Merry had been entranced by her shining fair hair, her melodious laugh, and her kindness. But on the way to the smithy, Merry had told himself, _It's impossible._

And it _was_ impossible.

The crowd rose from their seats in the king's hall. Merry was aroused suddenly from his brooding. He scrambled to his feet and looked around covertly, hoping no one had seen him. Well, except for Pippin, who could easily see through his closest friend.

As the crowd filed away from the middle of the hall for the dances, and some of them went to the refreshment tables, Merry followed Pippin to the food. While Dwarves valued gold and Men valued power, Hobbits valued food.

Merry grabbed some grapes, a large chicken leg, roasted duck, a bread roll, and an assortment of desserts and deviled eggs. Oh, and malt beer! What Hobbit could forget a malt beer?

He sat down between Pippin and Frodo. Sam sat across from Frodo. Everyone was laughing and smiling, except for the Hobbits. They only sat, and ate silently.

Pippin spoke up, obviously uncomfortable about the slight sadness among them. "Friends, look at the bright side. We leave for the Shire tomorrow." He raised his large brown mug.

"Aye," Sam raised his.

Merry thought for a minute before speaking up, "I miss the Shire more than ever…it will seem like forever when we travel there. But…a part of me wants to stay here. I will miss my friends…" he trailed off, gazing at Éowyn, who was dining happily with Faramir.

Frodo patted his shoulder. "I shall miss them, too." He shifted slightly, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

Pippin looked over concernedly. "Will it ever heal?" He asked.

"No." Frodo sighed. He seemed deep in thought.

A minute later, Sam rose from his seat boldly. "To our safe journey home," he raised his mug. Merry knew he was trying to lighten up their spirits especially Frodo's. Merry had to admit he did feel a little better.

"To the Shire," Pippin, Frodo, and Merry repeated, raising their glasses.

* * *

That night, the Hobbits went to their rooms. Pippin and Sam fell asleep easily, but Merry and Frodo lay awake. Merry folded his hands across his chest, staring up at the tall cathedral-style window. The bright moon shone through, casting a light partly across his bed.

Frodo was curled up on his bed, just at the other side of the window. It was dark on his side. Merry could tell Frodo was awake, though, by sounds of his thin, uneven breathing.

"Frodo?" Merry whispered.

Frodo rolled over. "Yes?" He seemed weary, but unable to sleep. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I was wondering about…the wedding." Merry sighed, thinking once again about how lovely Éowyn looked in her white dress with gold fringes and how the love in Faramir's eyes filled Merry with joy but also pain.

"Yes…it was lovely." Frodo said. He glanced at Merry. "I could not help but wonder why you were so quiet and serious. That is not like you."

Merry wasn't sure how Frodo would react if he told him the truth. Would he laugh and roll his eyes, like the old times? Would he look at Merry funny and shake his head? Would he sympathize with Merry?

"You know, when we go home, there will be many lovely lasses for you to choose from." Frodo spoke, and Merry realized…he _knew_! "How could you tell?" Merry groaned, slinging an arm across his eyes.

"By the way you looked at her." Frodo replied. "You gazed at her as if she was the most beautiful sight you ever saw."

"She is the White Lady of Rohan, a sight to behold, indeed," Merry murmured.

Frodo rose up on his elbow. "Rest easy, friend. You will find someone." Frodo's blue eyes took on a shadow. "I wonder…"

Merry wasn't sure if he was right, but he suspected it. "You would not dare," he frowned. "I - I do not want you to try to match-make me with…anyone!"

"Like you and Pip tried with me long ago?" Frodo retorted dryly.

"Ah, um," Merry blushed. "Y-y-I mean, _no_."

Frodo blinked, still thinking. Merry was still trying to get used to this Frodo. Frodo Baggins had always been the most serious, moody, and thoughtful of the Hobbits…but he wasn't as serious and brooding as he was now. Merry wondered if he would ever change back. If he didn't…well, Merry would accept his friend no matter who he was.

"Trust me, Merry." Frodo smiled slightly, encouragingly. "Who wouldn't want you for your looks and charm? Lasses used to love you, they will still love you," his eyes twinkled with amusement as he rolled over onto his stomach.

Irked at Frodo's unnaturally impish jab, Merry retaliated, "Yes, and they also will swoon over your _oh-so-bright_ eyes and soft, curly hair…" he raised his voice to mimick a girl's. Frodo scowled and grunted, flopping facedown into his pillow. "Good to see you are merry again, Merry." He spoke with a muffled tone.

Merry grinned and relaxed back on his pillow. "Maybe when we're back in the Shire, I'll find a pretty lass to make you smile - "

"Good _night_ , Merry!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic adheres to mostly movie canon, but there will be some book canon in this well, as well as a few slight AU twists I've written in.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this!! Please feel welcome to share any of your thoughts in the comments. :-)


	2. Strangers and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the four hobbits come back home, Sam makes a proposal, and Merry meets a mysterious stranger. Oh, and the author would like to apologize for the unabashed corniness and Mary-Sueiness of this chapter; PLEASE hang in there and give this a fanfic a chance, hmm?? :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!!! I know I said I would update this story . . . practically a year ago?? Welp. Okay, so, here goes. If you want to read the next 22 chapters NOW, you'll have to read them on FFnet until I get all the rest up here. :-) My pen name is Heidi Erickson over there.
> 
> So, before you keep reading, PLEASE keep in mind that I was 17 years old at the time this story was written, so . . . have a little mercy?? :-) Thank you!! :-)

Merry, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin arrived in the Shire within a month’s journey. Thankfully, the trip was uneventful, albeit dull. But it was much better compared to their trip _from_ the Shire to Rivendell!

Merry wasn’t surprised at how the Shire still appeared the same after a year. Hobbits weren’t one to change much about their lifestyle and communities. The grassy hills over the little homes with the round doors were unchanged. The blue sky and bright sun shone beautifully over Hobbiton. A very sunny place it was. Little hobbit children with bouncing curls ran around playfully, shouting. Hobbit wives swept doorsteps and hobbit husbands tended to their gardens.

But imagine all their surprise when they saw Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took back home. They thought the four hobbits were never going to return—and yet, here they were, back in town, without as much of a howdy-do or a warning letter! Some were indignant, some were disgruntled, some were suspicious, but some also were overjoyed, such as old friends like Rose Cotton and her family, and of course, the four hobbits’ own worried families.

“They have no right, waltzing in like this,” Lobelia Sackville-Baggins grumbled as she served mugs of beer to her husband, Otho, and their gossipy friends.

Otho nodded. “I thought we were finally going to inherit Bag End! But, ah, _there he is_!” He whined.

“Yes, and with only nine fingers, no less,” Odo Proudfoot whispered, casting a suspicious glare in Frodo’s direction. He sat with his companions at a table in the distance. “Wonder what happened to it.” He muttered, before taking a swig of his ale for his protruding belly.

“Cracked as he was, he probably gnawed it right off hisself,” Otho retorted to his cousin. He and his crony friends cackled hollowly.

Across the tavern, Frodo shoved mugs of ale towards his friends, pretending he didn’t hear the dirty-mouthed Sackville-Bagginses gossiping about him. He’d been home for barely two days, and people were already talking about him. Not wanting the attention and speculation, Frodo made a point to be as secluded as possible without looking odd or impolite enough.

He smiled slightly and tapped mugs with Pippin, Merry, and Sam. _Home at last._ He thought in relief and almost peace. He caught Sam’s gaze, which was glancing over his shoulder—to Rose Cotton, washing dishes at the counter. For a moment, Frodo thought Sam would be the same old Sam: too shy to ask pretty fair-haired Rosie Cotton a-courting. But, in a beat, he was proved wrong when Sam took a quick sip of his ale, stood up with purpose, and strode away. Frodo, Pippin, and Merry immediately looked over at him.

Pippin raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly. Merry looked down and blew out in shocked amusement. Frodo started laughing, something he hadn’t done in quite a while.

Maybe being back home wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

* * *

Four months later, Rosie and Sam became engaged. The wedding was set on May 1st in the following year. Sam asked Frodo, Pippin, and Merry to support him and help him, since Rosie wanted _his_ help on planning the wedding. His friends gladly complied.

Merry walked along the pebbled path towards Pippin’s home. He wanted to go fishing, and it wouldn’t be fun without Pip around. Merry glanced up at the sky; it was clouding up. He hoped it didn’t rain.

A rustle from the bushes stopped him in his tracks. He turned around to observe the dense trees and bushes lined up by the road. There—the raspberry bushes were quaking slightly. Frowning curiously, he sauntered over, and slowly leaned forward, reaching in. “Who’s there?”

All of a sudden, a pair of pale hands shoved out and rammed him in the chest. “OW!” Merry shut his eyes as he tumbled back on the dewy grass. He opened his eyes, only to see a pair of perfectly pearly black eyes staring at his in fright. As quickly as she had jumped out of the bushes, she leaped up to her feet and stumbled back hurriedly.

“Whoa, there,” Merry held up a hand. “Don’t be hasty.” He laughed, remembering Treebeard’s very words, in slow, deep Entish. But the dark-haired hobbit only frowned and tentatively turned around to leave.

Wondering why a hobbit maiden would just try to leave without apologizing, Merry quickly got up and grabbed her arm. “Wait!” Frowning, he noticed black and blue marks on her arm. The girl’s eyes widened and she jerked away.

“What happened to you?” Merry regarded her with questioning eyes. The girl bit her lip and looked away nervously.

“Cat got your tongue?” Merry tried to charm her with his smile. But she only narrowed her eyes.

“Can you not talk?” Merry asked again worriedly.

That seemed to start her. “Of _course_ I can,” she replied, a tinge of indignation in her tone. She straightened up into a graceful pose and brushed the dust, grass, and tiny thorns off her light blue gingham dress.

“What has you in a hurry?” Merry asked, peering at her curiously. She was taller and thinner than most hobbit maidens and he was sure she was the first one with black, curly hair that he’d ever met.

“That is _my_ business, sir,” the girl repeated in a pent-up breath. “I apologize for knocking you over. You sca—“ she bit her lip again and looked away. But Merry grinned knowingly. “Ahh, I _scared_ you?”

She glanced at him again. “Yes.” She answered with frank honesty. Merry quickly sobered. “I apologize, miss. You scared _me_ as well, just so you know. So, are we even?” He stuck out his hand.

The lass glanced down at his dusty hand, and then back at his face. “Yes. We are even.” She replied softly, without shaking his hand. Merry withdrew it. He opened his mouth to ask what her name was, but the girl quickly drew up her long skirt and turned around. “I’d best be going now, mister. Good day!” She strode off with a hint of dignity around her, as she entered the woods once again.

Merry shook his head, wondering what the world was coming around to. Oh, well. At least Pippin would be entertained by this little story.

* * *

 Gwynra Whitfoot quickly padded down the stony steps towards the creek. She had to get out of here and return to Buckland as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, she remembered she’d forgotten her rough straw bags with all the stolen berries, nuts, and bread. It was beneath that prickly raspberry bush. She quickly retrieved them. Before retreating, she took one last look at the blond, curly-haired hobbit walking away. He was whistling, with his hands stuck in his pockets. His yellow vest complexioned his hair.

Gwynra sighed. He reminded her of…oh, what was the use? She had things to do, so she couldn’t keep on brooding, and wondering, and wishing…

Wishing that… Gwynra shook her head quickly and set off on her mission. She slung the sacks across her back and hopped downhill to her raft on the cold creek.

Half an hour later, she was home. She traipsed her way through the proud little village of Newbury, headed for her little soddy she dwelled in with her parents and older brother.

Sighing heavily, she opened the splintered, tattered wooden door that seriously needed a replacement. She dropped the heavy sacks on the table, which color and texture matched that ugly door.

“Gwynra!” Her mother came out of her bedroom, rubbing her oil-smudged hands together. Malva Whitfoot was Gwynra’s total opposite in personality, but similar in appearance. She has pale skin, black, curly hair, and black eyes, like Gwynra.

“Yes, Mama?” Gwynra turned around and bowed her head submissively.

“Have you got the bread? The nuts? The berries?” Malva rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Your father is in desperate need of his medicine.”

“Yes, Mama. I will tell Cec to prepare them.” Gwynra nodded. Malva imitated her nods and went over to the table, rummaging through the bags. Suddenly she stopped, turned around, and glared at her daughter. “No _acorns_? Cec needs _acorns_.”

Gwynra turned bright red, dread rippling through her. “Uh…no, Mama. I forgot.”

Malva snarled and slammed her thin hand on the table, which caused some pain for the elder lady. “You _useless_ girl!” She growled. “Go out and get them! _Now_!”

“But, Mama—“ Gwynra already had nearly suffered the dogs and sickle of Farmer Maggot for nabbing his berries, nearly been caught by the old hobbit widows when she pilfered their bread, and had gotten scratches while climbing up trees for almonds and walnuts.

Malva grabbed Gwynra’s wrist in a viselike grasp. “Do. It. _Now._ ” She hissed. She cast a warning glance at Gwynra’s bruise on her upper arm. Gwynra gulped, fighting back tears. “Y-yes, Mama.” She bowed and quickly left the house.

Gwynra tried her best to keep on a brave face as she kept her head downcast. She walked down the paved main road of Buckland.

“Hello, Gwyn!” The mayor of Buckland’s daughter, Donnamira Jumpswell, skipped towards her. Gwyn, as most called her, looked up at the perky redhead. Donnamira was one of the few citizens who socialized with Gwyn, while others avoided her. Because she was…well, different.

Gwyn attempted a polite smile. “Hello, Donnamira. How do you do today?”

Donnamira giggled. “Well, I’m just wondering about...how, ah, your brother is…” she looked down and blushed. A rare smile tugged at Gwyn’s lips. “He is fine, but why don’t you see for yourself by visiting him in his office?”

Mira, Donnamira’s nickname, looked up. She raised her eyebrows dubiously. “I do not know. My father will not want me associating with…well, anyone in your family.”

“You are associating with _me_ ,” Gwyn smiled wryly. “What difference will it make if you go see Cec? Besides, he misses your weekly visits at his office.”

Mira nodded. “Yes, well, I haven’t seen him or you since Ada—“

Fear crept into Gwyn’s very being. “Don’t...say her name!” She gasped, stepping back. She looked around, wide-eyed. “I have taken too long. Mama needs acorns now. Goodbye.” She spun around and flew down the path towards the Brandywine Bridge 

* * *

 

Gwyn didn’t return to her raft by nightfall, and by then, it was raining in torrents. To her despair, the raft had been washed away by the high tide. For the umpteenth time, she’d forgotten to tie it up! She trudged back up the slippery, muddy hill.

The roads were empty, the sky was dark, gray, and thunderous, and lights from hobbit-holes were blurred as raindrops blinded her. Gwyn wrapped her brown hood and cape tighter around her as she stumbled around, not sure where she was going. In fact, she didn’t care—all she wanted was to get into a shelter.

Suddenly, she found herself bumping into a door. She wildly grasped for the doorknob and turned it. She toppled into the dark hallway. The rain kept on pounding at the windows, and the wind howled like a banshee. Panting, Gwyn shoved the door shut with her foot. Exhausted, she lay on the smooth wooden floor.

A moment later, Gwyn stood up with effort. She tugged off her hood, which hadn’t helped her at all. Her hair dripped heavily on the floor. In fact, the whole entrance of the hobbit-hole was now puddling up, thanks to her. Nervously, Gwyn looked around, wondering if anyone was home.

Obviously not. The whole house was silent, and dark. The only sounds heard were the wind and rain. But, somewhere in the eerie abode, was a grandfather clock ticking. The faint, clicking sound gave Gwyn the chills, or maybe it was just the rain that made her that way. She sneezed.

Quickly, she padded down the hallway, looking for a room to hide in, mindless of the footprints she was making that could make the home dwellers suspicious.

She opened a random door, which led to an untouched bedroom. The bed had light rose-pink quilts, and two shelves stood by either side, with a few books. An oil lamp stood on one of the bookshelves. At the other side of the room was a tall, wide cedar clothes dresser. The strong cedar scent beckoned Gwyn to enter. She loved the smell of cedar, it reminded her of…

Closing the door behind her, Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling hypnotized. It was her weariness that made her…vulnerable. Willing to do anything without fear or discomfort. She clumsily shuffled towards the bed, removed her cape, and flopped down gracefully. She felt water seeping through the cushions, from her dress and hair.

But Gwyn didn’t really care. All she wanted to do was sleep. And sleep she did drift off to.

She only hoped she would be able to leave before anyone found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?? Questions?? Anything?? Anything is welcome!! Unless you mean to hate me, then kindly go away. :-P :-)
> 
> Thank you for reading this!! :-D Chapter 3 will be posted here sooner than last time, I promise!!


	3. Mysteries and Broodings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwyn's Mary-Sueness is painfully evident, Merry becomes a detective, and Melonna is completely lovesick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the Mary-Sueness you might be seeing in Gwyn; I promise that her character does develop and improve in later chapters!! Other than that . . . enjoy. :-)

Gwyn awoke with a start.

She’d heard a door slam somewhere. Glancing around sleepily, she realized that she wasn’t in her tiny, dusty room, lying on her thin mat of a bed. No—she was in a nice, comfy feather bed, with damp quilts covering her. The walls of the room were clean, the furniture was dusted, and the window by the bed had sparkling golden frames. The sun shone in, warming the room. Tall flowers peeked into the corners of the window, and birds chirped from somewhere close by.

 _This is not my room!_ Gwyn panicked. Then she remembered—yesterday, Mama sending her out, forgetting to tie up the raft and getting caught in the rain…

“This is such a _mess_! Who was in here?!” Gwyn jumped at the angry shout of a male hobbit. The voice was so familiar…

“ _Look!_ There are watery tracks leading to your guest room, Merry!” A female voice called out. Her voice was familiar, too.

Gwyn flew out of bed, jerked the windows open, and leaped out, landing softly on the thick soil. Then she ran as fast as she could through the backyard and into the shady forest.

* * *

Merry angrily strode over to the guest room and opened the door swiftly.

There was no one there. He looked around. The bed obviously had been slept in, the windows open wide, and a book lay on the top shelf, opened.

Melonna, Merry’s cousin, came up behind him. “Oh, my.” She whispered.

Shocked and confused, Merry walked in. He looked out of the window. But no one was in sight. Absolutely no one.

“Merry.” He turned around to see Melonna touching the mattress of the bed. “It’s moist. And, look!” She held up a light brown cape, which still dripped of water. Melonna squeezed it, and water gushed out.

“Whoa, wait! Not in here, silly!” Merry held up his hands. In some ways, Melonna was just like Pippin; doing things in the wrong places. Like lighting up a firecracker _in_ a tent.

“Sorry,” she replied quickly and went over to the window and hung the cape over the sill. She peered out. “Anyone you see?”

“No.” Merry stuck his hands in his pockets. “But obviously he got caught in the rain and decided to intrude.”

“Or _she_.”

“Why do you think it’s a _she_?” Merry glanced over at Melonna. His cousin was younger than him by a few years, and some strangers would oftentimes mistake her as his sister.

Melonna shrugged, still watching out. “I just have a feeling.”

“Oh.” Merry sighed. Part of him wanted to track this hobbit down and give him—or _her_ —a sound rebuking he’d—or _she’d_ —never forget. But the kinder, more tolerant part in him said to leave it be. This hobbit must have been in a desperate need of shelter.

“We should get your other cousin! From the other side of your family!” Melonna burst out happily. She always expressed her new ideas with excitement. Merry smiled. “You mean Frodo?”

“Yes!” Melonna giggled. “You told me he’s good at noticing the small things!”

“I did,” Merry smiled. “Melonna…you still have feelings for him, don’t you?”

Melonna looked down and blushed. “Yes.” She murmured. Her feelings for Frodo, however, had never been requited, after all these three years. Melonna just had entered her “coming-of-age” year, when all the hobbit maidens got married. And Frodo still hadn’t noticed her.

“All right, we will go to his house. Come on.” Merry smiled encouragingly at her. Cousin or not, Melonna _was_ like a sister to him.

Merry lived in Hobbiton, although he was originally from Buckland. Pippin used to live in Tuckborough, but ever since the hobbits’ return home, he and Merry had resided in Hobbiton, where Sam and Frodo lived. Merry lived alone in his late uncle Merimac’s old home, while Pippin lived with his oldest sister, Pearl.

Bag End was just a short way from old Merimac Brandybuck’s little hobbit-hole. Melonna chattered the whole way, amusing Merry. He just hoped she wouldn’t ask Frodo about his missing finger—or anything about the quest.

Stopping at the small wooden gate, Melonna shrank back. Merry turned around. “What is the matter?”

“It’s…” Melonna glanced up at the peaceful-looking hill they called Frodo’s home. “It’s just that…I haven’t seen Frodo in a year.” She sighed and shook her head. “When I moved to Waymeet, just before you left the Shire, I thought I wouldn’t be seeing much of Frodo anymore…that made me quite sad. Now that you’ve brought me back to Hobbiton, Merry, I feel…nervous. Different.”

Merry gave her an almost chiding, but loving gaze. He took hold of her tiny shoulders. “Now, Melonna Goldworthy, listen to me. Don’t you think that Frodo will look at you differently than he has before. You once were a good friend of his, and you still will be. So don’t go around worrying, all right?” He smiled at her.

Melonna smiled back, confidence restored. “All right. Thank you, Merry.”

“Don’t mention it,” he winked. “Shall we go?”

They walked up the stone steps towards the shiny yellow door. Merry knocked.

A few minutes later, Frodo opened it. His eyes roved more Merry to Melonna, and they widened. “Merry’s cousin, Melonna!”

Melonna nodded excitedly, but her poor face was bright red. Merry choked back a chortle. Melonna opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Melonna always went mute when she was in high anxiety. Frodo smiled slightly. “Melonna, I am _so_ glad to see you again,” he spoke as to restore her sureness.

Finally, Melonna spoke. “Me, too!” She blushed again. “I mean, it’s _so_ nice to see you again—Mister Frodo.”

Merry laughed. “She’s been so excited to visit you since I brought her home from Waymeet.”

Frodo’s nodded. “I see. Why, your clothes look wrinkled and slept in…what happened?”

Melonna nodded. “We arrived into Hobbiton just when it started raining. So we slept at Sam’s house overnight.”

“Which reminds me…I need your help.” Merry tacked on.

“Of course,” Frodo inclined his head. “Help with what?”

Merry scowled. “Someone was caught in the rain and intruded my home. He—“

“Or _she_.” Melonna interrupted.

Merry rolled his eyes. “Or _she_ —slept in my guest room. He—or _she_ ,” he glared at Melonna, warning her not to interrupt again, “left just before we came in. The windows were open.”

“And you didn’t see anyone run off?” Frodo asked.

“No. The only clues we have are: a brown cape, a messed-up bed, and water. You know—from the rain.” Melonna sighed. “But I think we should let it go. She might have _really_ needed shelter.”

“I _do_ want to let it go,” Merry explained. “But…I don’t know why; _something_ in me is just… _telling_ me to look for that person.”

“Ah.” Frodo nodded. “Well, we’ll just go to your house, and see if I can notice anything else out of the ordinary.”

“Thank you, mate.” Merry grinned.

* * *

 

Gwyn tentatively walked towards her soddy. Papa and Cec surely were very worried about her. She swallowed hard before opening the door.

 

She saw Mama and Cec sitting at the table, eating cream of wheat. Mama looked up, her thin eyebrows and lips drawn together in displeasure. “Gwynra.” She greeted coldly.

“M-Mama.” She despised the trembling in her voice. “I…I am sorry…I—I can explain—“

“Explain nothing. You are home. That is all that matters.” Mama looked back down to her breakfast.

“Mother,” Cecilius Whitfoot gave his mother a reproachful look. “I’m sure Gwyn didn’t mean to worry us.”

Mama shifted slightly, uncomfortable but dismissive. “Yes, well, Gwynra, why don’t you sit down?”

“Yes, Mama.” Gwyn bowed before sitting.

“This is second breakfast.” Mama said. “And it will be all you get today. I’m afraid there will be no elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, or dinner for you, young lady. As part of your punishment.”

“Mama!” Gwyn gasped. Not—not even… _afternoon tea_?! She loved _afternoon tea_!!!

“Mother, please. Can’t you see she’s cold, hungry, and tired?” Cec pleaded.

“No.” Mama snipped. She sent Gwyn a pointed glance. “Go on. Sit down and eat your cream of wheat, even though it’s cold.”

Dejected, Gwyn sat down on her creaky old chair. She fought hard not to cry. _Why do you want to cry?! This is how Mama treats you all the time—don’t act like it’s any different!_ She silently berated herself.

After she was finished, she wiped her palms on her raggedy blue dress. “Mama,” she hesitated, “May I visit Papa, and then take a bath by the river?”

“Go do as you please, dear,” Mama coolly replied with a wave of her hand, “As long as you’re not in my way.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Gwyn rose from her chair, gathered the dishes and spoons, and headed outside to wash them up. After she was finished, she put them back in their dusty, cobwebby cabinets, and then she headed for the small bedroom Mama and Papa shared.

She knocked on the door quietly. “Who’s there?” A voice quavered from inside.

“It’s me, Papa. Gwynra.”

“Oh…” Gwyn heard the smile in his voice. “Come in, Gwynnie-girl!”

She stepped in the darkened room. The shades were down as always, so Gwyn could barely see the outline of her father, lying invalid in bed.

“Papa?”

“Come, come closer, child.” The shadow of his hand motioned her closer. Gwyn tiptoed forward, and then knelt at the bedside. There, she could see her father more clearly. His mustached, wrinkled face still showed how weak and ill he was. “Papa,” Gwyn whispered. “How are you?"

Her father’s quaking hands went up to touch her face. “Oh…you haven’t seen me in two days…I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I was hoping you might’ve been up to a little bit of mischief.” His faded brown eyes twinkled merrily.

Gwyn smiled. “No. No mischief, Papa. I haven’t done anything of the sort since—“ abruptly, she stopped herself from saying… _it_.

“Ah…” Papa shook his head ever so slightly. “My little girl isn’t so little anymore, is she?”

“No, Papa.” Gwyn shook her head. Wanting to change the subject, she started, “Did you like the bread, Papa? We hadn’t had bread in a long time.”

“Oh, yes,” Papa smiled. “It tasted like heaven. Where did you get it?”

“…Hobbiton.” Gwyn answered, hoping he wouldn’t ask _how_.

“Hobbiton?” The old hobbit’s grey eyebrows shot up. “What were you doing out there, girl?”

“Mama sent me there…to get some bread. Nuts, too, and berries. But I’m afraid you can’t have your medicine just yet, since I forgot the acorns.” Gwyn gulped. “Cec needs the acorns, but I forgot them…oh, Papa, I’m so sorry…”

“Hush, hush, child…” Papa took hold of her hands and kissed them. “You are forgiven. Don’t cry…it’s never good to cry.”

Gwyn nodded through her tears. “Yes, Papa.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I…I need to bathe. I was caught in the rain last night, and…I’m a mess.”

“Oh?” Isengar Whitfoot peered up at his eldest daughter with weathered eyes. “Ah, yes, yes...but a beautiful mess, I must say.” He smiled. “Just like your mama.”

Gwyn bit her lip. Obviously, Mama hadn’t bothered to tell Papa what happened to her. Nevertheless, she rose to her feet graciously. “Thank you, Papa.” She kissed his wrinkled hands and left the room quickly.

She took a clean green plaid jump dress and a white blouse to wear today, and then headed for Brandywine River to wash up.

“Gwyn!” She cringed at Mira’s voice. Mira flounced over to her side and linked arms with her. “Where are you headed off too? My, it’s such a sunny day, isn’t it?! After such a horrid, horrid storm, I was sure it would…” Mira stopped in her dainty steps, halting Gwyn as well. “Gwynra Whitfoot, what happened to you?!”

Gwyn looked down at her mud-splattered legs and skirt, and touched her madly mussed-up curly hair. She grimaced. “I got stuck in the ‘horrid, horrid’ storm.”

Mira flipped back her fancy red hair, tied up in an eccentric up-do. “Well, then, you’d better go down to the river and wash up, for one of the loveliest hobbit lasses in Newbury cannot come back from out of nowhere looking as if she’d been in a mud-and-water fair!” She giggled at her own lame puns.

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “Right. In fact, that’s what I was about to do.”

“Oh!” Mira nodded. “Good! But…” her dark brown eyes flickered with worry. “…Be careful.” She finished off with a hushed tone.

Gwyn nodded soberly. “I will. Thank you. Good day!” She rushed off.

* * *

 

After a long day, Merry was spent. Frodo came over, checked out the guest room. He found a clue: a single strand of hair. It was black. But who was it?! Then Frodo had elevenses with Merry and Melonna. And then Merry went fishing with Pippin, while Melonna cleaned the house for him. Then Melonna picked flowers for Merry—but some of them were daffodils, which made him sneeze.

Melonna was also a horrible cook. She burned the pot roast, and forgot to bake the bread—which hadn’t even rose in its yeast! And she accidentally put too much ale in the stew for flavor, which made them slightly loopy and nauseous.

And then Melonna lit a fire, and accidentally set his pants on fire. Everything was an accident, so Merry felt grudgingly inclined to forgive and forget.

Maybe tomorrow.

Tonight, Melonna was confined to her room so Merry could be alone.

But then, sitting alone in the living room, Merry wondered if that was such a good idea. Listening to the crackling fire and the gentle breeze outside, he frowned and watched the bushes rustle outside his window.

The rustling. They reminded him of…

Her black hair…Merry narrowed his eyes. Now he’d found a suspect. But what was her name? Where was she from?!

He crept towards the window, half-expecting her to jump out and shove him to the floor. But he’d come prepared this time…he leaned over, and—

There was nothing.

And Merry felt oddly disappointed. Pursuing his lips, he crossed his arms and rested against the windowsill, glancing up at the starry sky.

The starry sky reminded him of Dunharrow. And Dunharrow reminded him of Eowyn.

It’d been five months since he saw her. How was she? Was she happy? Was Faramir taking good care of her? Were they already starting a family?

He sighed heavily. Thoughts of Eowyn made him feel depressed. And Meriadoc Brandybuck did _not_ get depressed. He tried to live up to his name— _Merry_!

 _But how can I be Merry when the lady I might love is with another?_ He wondered.

 _“Rest easy, friend.”_ Frodo’s words came back to haunt him. _“You will find someone.”_

Merry scowled. _Well, I don’t want anyone…except for Eowyn!_

Yes. Eowyn, with her pale skin, fair hair, her kind and compassionate personality, her gentleness. The only bad thing about her was that she couldn’t cook, just like Melonna—

A light went on in his head. Merry grinned. “Meriadoc, you old fool. Who says I have to stop now? Melonna needs love—and so does…he.” He chuckled, glad to have his mind off Eowyn.

Tomorrow, _Operation: Get Melonna and Frodo Together_ would commence.

He just hoped Frodo wouldn’t notice! Uh-oh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel welcome to share your thoughts!! Thank you! :-)


	4. A Dark Mystery and Lots of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merry is a persuasive matchmaker, Frodo likes to brood, Melonna has hearts in her eyes when it comes around to Frodo, and Gwyn also likes to brood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4!!! I am SUPER sorry if y'all were really confused about all the chapter thingies and such; I am still new to AO3 and am still trying to figure it out, LOL. Anyway . . . enjoy!! :-)
> 
> And once again: this fic is over 4 years ago. 4 years ago, I was a different person, which = different writing style. It will change over time, so please bear with me, LOL. :-)

Frodo walked down the road to Merry’s hole. He wondered why he’d sent a note saying to come over right away. Frodo looked up and admired the lovely sky and the birds flying above.

 _Splash!_ Frodo cringed and looked down at his wet pant leg. There still were many puddles from the rainstorm two days ago, and he still had to be careful to dodge them. He quickly scurried up to Merry’s door.

Melonna answered it. Frodo bowed in respect. “Good morning, Miss Goldworthy,” he greeted. He noticed her hair was brighter today—or was it always that way?

“Good morning…Mister Baggins?” Melonna greeted back uncertainly. Frodo smiled, wishing to put her at ease. “You may call me just _Frodo_.”

Melonna smiled widely, showing her dimples, just like Merry’s. “Then call me _Melonna_!”

“All right,” Frodo smiled politely. “May I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, sorry!” Melonna moved so he could enter.

When Frodo came in, Merry walked out of his living room. “Oh!” His eyes, just as blue as Melonna’s, brightened. “You’re here.” He grinned in that self-satisfied smile that always meant, _I have plans._

Frodo momentarily wondered what Merry was thinking. He looked down at Melonna, standing next to him. Apparently, she was wondering the same thing.

Merry motioned them to follow him down the hallway to the kitchen and dining room. “Wonder what he’s up to,” Melonna muttered in an undertone.

“You think he’s up to something?” Frodo whispered back.

“No, Frodo, I _know_.” Melonna rolled her eyes. “This morning, he tells me to get ready for a trip, and I do—but apparently, _he’s_ not going somewhere— _I_ just am!” Frodo chuckled.

Merry stopped by his round table and smiled at the two. “Frodo. Melonna. I need you two to run an errand for me today.”

“Oh.” Frodo replied mildly. “Um, what errand?”

Merry went over to his kitchen and started pulling out sacks of food. “My old house in Bucklebury has some things I want brought back here. My books, fishing supplies—I’m tired of borrowing Pip’s—my raft, oars, and nature trekking necessities.”

“Oh.” Melonna nodded. “And, may I ask, why _me_? And _him_?” She glowered at her cousin suspiciously.

Merry shrugged, his eyes widened in innocence. “Just because. I want to be alone today.”

Frodo scowled. “Fine, Merry. You want to be alone. But how am _I_ involved in this? I don’t live here, you know.”

Merry went over to Melonna and wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a brotherly fashion. “Because, Frodo, I do not wish to see my dear, sweet, and innocent cousin harmed, lost, or worse on the trip and back. And so, I have decided you will go with her. Besides—you used to live there! Brandy Hill is in Bucklebury, remember?”

Pain flashed through him. Frodo remembered his dear parents, dead for so many long years…

Merry’s eyes widened. “Oh, Frodo, I am sorry,” he apologized. “I did not mean to—“

“It is all right,” Frodo shook his head. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll take Melonna there.” Maybe it would be good for him to face his past in Bucklebury. To overcome his pain and memories.

He met Melonna’s gaze. Her medium blue eyes were shining—with what? Happiness?

Merry smirked, and Frodo was fully convinced that he was up to something. “Then it’s all settled.” Merry said, satisfied. “Melonna, go ready the ponies and the wagon.” He gave her a little shove into the direction of the hallway.

Once Melonna was gone, Frodo balled his fists. “Just what do you think you are up to, Meriadoc Brandybuck?! Clearly, you do not want me to be around her _just_ for protection!”

Merry snorted. “What? What else might I be up to?” He turned around to head for the ale cellar.

Frodo followed him, indignation in his stance. “If you’re trying to match me up with _Melonna_ , you’re insane!”

“What’s wrong with Melonna?!” Merry retorted. “She’s a sweet, nice girl. You’re just the one who can keep her high spirits on the ground. And she’s just the one who can make you smile, Frodo.” Merry paused and looked up at him. Frodo stood on the steps. His fists were on his hips, stating he meant business. “You should smile more often, Frodo.” Merry told him softly.

Frodo slowly crossed his arms. “Yes, but…”

“Please, Frodo.” Merry pleaded. “Give it a chance. Just see what it’s like spending the day with her.”

Frodo shook his head. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about Merry.” He turned around to leave. “I’m going to help Melonna with the ponies.” He stopped at the terrace. “And…we are just _friends_. That’s final.”

Frodo wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Merry imitate Gollum by wickedly sneering, “You’ll see. Oh, yes. You will see.” He growled and rolled his eyes.

He sincerely prayed _Pippin_ wouldn’t try to get involved with the…” _matchmaking_ ”!

_Matchmaking, my foot!_

* * *

 

The trip, for the first hour and a half, was quiet. Frodo was surprised, since he knew Melonna was always a chatty hobbit. Not that he minded the silence, though. He enjoyed admiring the landscape, with the grassy green fields and golden crops of wheat and corn, almost ready for autumn. It was September. In a little over a month, it would be two years since he left Rivendell.

He refocused on Merry’s ponies, Sage and Posie, and steered them around the curve of the stony road, going downhill. He surmised they were almost to the Brandywine Bridge. He sensed Melonna’s gaze move to his hands. And then he heard the dreaded question.

“Oh, my, what happened to your finger?”

Frodo gritted his teeth. “Um, I would prefer not to talk about it.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She apologized.

“It is all right.” He replied gently, and then fell silent.

A moment later, Melonna spoke up. “Do you think Merry will tell me about his adventures with Pippin? When they left the Shire?”

“I do not know,” Frodo replied thoughtfully. “He might. Or might not.” He only knew of two things that Merry most likely would refuse to talk about: Boromir’s and King Théoden’s deaths. Merry sometimes had nightmares from them.

“He told me of only one adventure: of how he and Pippin got so tall!” Melonna continued. “I’m almost jealous. He and Pippin are now the tallest hobbits in the shire!”

Frodo chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll never get enough of bragging about the story.”

“Entmoot!” Melonna giggled. “Such a funny name, too.”

Frodo nodded ruefully. “I’ll tell you of one thing, Melonna. Our adventures weren’t all that fun. It was also dangerous…tragic…and painful.” He fell silent, wincing at the pain in his chest.

“I understand. I won’t ask you anything, then.” Melonna replied gently. She laid a hand on his arm.

Frodo glanced at her. “Thank you.”

They arrived at the Brandywine Bridge. Frodo stopped at the bank of the river.

 _“Frodo,_ run _!” Pippin screamed. Fear and adrenaline shot through Frodo’s veins. The thunderous hoofbeats of the Nazgul’s steeds pounded behind him. “_ Frodo! _” And he jumped. He fell hard on the raft, and Sam held onto his shoulders. Frodo watched the Nazgul skid to a halt, and then he turned and galloped away, with several others following him. The howl and screech of the Ring-wraiths chilled his bones._

Frodo felt himself turning pale at the memory.

“Frodo? Frodo?” Melonna tugged at his light blue tunic. “Are you all right?” Her tone was laced with worry.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Frodo felt distressed that he’s worried her so. He flapped the reins to make the ponies start trotting forward.

“It is all right. You just looked rather pale back there.” Melonna stated.

“Yes. I am sorry, I was just reliving a memory.”

“What memory?”

Frodo gave her a wry smile. She blushed and giggled. “Right. Sorry.”

They continued the rest of the journey in silence. Bucklebury was just half an hour away.

* * *

 

They stopped in Newbury first, which was just barely fifteen minutes northeast of Bucklebury. Melonna said she wanted to visit a friend for just a few minutes, and Frodo was glad to comply.

“Who are you visiting?” Frodo maneuvered Sage and Posie over to the stables, the first building of the provincial little village.

“He’s a healer. I haven’t seen him in three years. His name is Cecilius Whitfoot.” Melonna explained. “Very smart. Nice, too. He was kind of like a big brother to me.”

“Ah,” Frodo replied. “And how long do you plan to visit him?”

“Oh, I promise I won’t be more than an hour,” Melonna glanced up at him, surprised they stood so close. Frodo was holding on to Posie’s reins, and Melonna was just getting off the wagon. She made the mistake of looking up in his deep blue eyes that always shot electricity through her. And she didn’t know if electricity even existed.

“What?” He looked at her curiously. Melonna found her voice and quickly looked away. “Ah—oh, um, it’s nothing.” She walked out of his way before he could see her blush.

Wanting to be distracted from his curly brown locks and brilliant blue eyes, Melonna continued. “Cec lives with his parents and sister, in an old soddy just a short way from here. But we’ll visit Cec in his clinic.”

“All right.”

They walked out of the stables and down the wide street. A round water fountain was in the middle, giving the village a royal look. They walked to a line of buildings on the right side of the street. The green part of the array of buildings had a large sign above it: _MEDICAL CLINIC OF CECILIUS WHITFOOT_. Melonna stared up at Frodo. “Cec has been a healer for four years. But he’s so good at that that he has been marked as a professional.”

They entered a quaint little waiting room. A young hobbit maiden stood behind her desk, holding a feather-pen. She hummed, twirling her curly blonde locks.

“Excuse me,” Melonna asked. “Is Master Whitfoot available for a visit?”

The lass looked up. “Oh, yes. He is in his den, just down the hall, and take a left.” She pointed.

“Thank you.” Melonna smiled and tugged at Frodo’s sleeve, pulling him along.

They reached his office, and Melonna knocked. “Come in!” His voice boomed.

“Hello, Cec,” Melonna greeted with a bright smile. Cec looked up from his books. At first, his eyes registered no recognition, but then his jaw dropped. “Melonna Goldworthy!” He exclaimed, rising from his desk. Melonna nodded excitedly. Cec ran around his desk and enveloped Melonna into a hug. For a hobbit, Cec was taller and broader than most. _But not as tall as Merry and Pippin._ Melonna giggled.

Cec pulled away and studied her. “Well! You’ve changed! Have more lads started flocking around you yet?” His eyes sparkled with humor. Melonna rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” _Really? With my plain features and overly curly hair and short stature? Get real._

“And who is this?” Cec looked over her to Frodo, who was standing silently in the doorway. He bowed politely. “Hm. Quiet lad. But he’s a right good choice, methinks.” Cec nodded. Frodo’s eyes widened and he looked as if he was about to bolt.

Mortified, Melonna stomped on Cec’s foot. “CEC!” She shrieked.

He yowled and let her loose. “What?! All I said was—“

“We are _not_ like that,” Melonna hissed. “Just _friends_!”

Cec held up his hands in defense. “All right, all right, I apologize. I just assumed…”

“I get it!” Melonna snapped. Frodo shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the doorframe.

“So…” Cec began awkwardly, “What brings you here, Miss Melonna?”

“I just came to visit.” Melonna smiled. Then she sobered slightly. “And…to talk.”

Cec nodded ever so slightly, understanding. “Yes.” He looked over at Frodo. “Sir, will you please give us some privacy. We need to discuss…personal matters.”

Frodo nodded, looking between the two, albeit suspiciously, but just after a moment’s thought, he consented. He bowed, stepped back, and closed the door.

Cec paused, and then spoke. “How are your parents?”

“They are well, thank you.” Melonna replied. “They live in Waymeet now. But I live with my cousin Meriadoc now. He just brought me back to Hobbiton two days ago.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck? Doesn’t he live in Bucklebury?”

“Yes, but for four months now, he’s been living in his uncle’s old hobbit-hole.”

“Ah.” Cec nodded thoughtfully.

“…How is your sister?” Melonna inquired hesitantly.

Cec looked into her eyes sadly. “She has improved much, but I see a shadow over her every day.” He shook his head. “And what is worse: Father is dying.”

Melonna gasped, dread rippling through her. “Mister Isengar? Oh, I am so sorry, Cec. Miss Malva must be saddened, especially after…” she bit her lip to refrain from saying _her_ name. Her name was like a curse in town these days, she’d heard.

Cec nodded. “So saddened that her manner towards Gwyn has worsened.”

Melonna shook her head. She had this sudden urge to find dear Gwyn and give her a loving hug. “And Griffin?” She whispered. “I heard rumors that he’d…”

Cec’s black eyes almost filled with tears. “The rumors are true. He has been gone since after…” he shook his head. “Griffin might just be still alive—or dead, for all we know.” Almost angrily, he clenched his fists and brought them down firmly on his desk. Frightened, Melonna touched his back. “Don’t say that. Griffin must be around here! I’m sure of it.” _Oh, Griffin, only if you were here. I would say I was sorry and that I would’ve almost…_

Cec turned back around and took her hands. “I’d almost hoped you wouldn’t come back, because I don’t want you to see us like this. We now are considered strange and… _almost_ evil in this village. N-no one likes us now.” He was almost on the verge of tears.

Melonna touched his face impulsively. “Do not lose hope. I will always pray for you, and Gwyn, and your parents, and…Griffin.” Her heart clenched sat the sound of his name.

“Thank you.” Cec whispered.

An unspoken message went between them, and they decided to speak of lighter things. For the next thirty minutes, they chatted about life in Newbury, Cec’s possible future beau Mira, which would be possibly only if her father granted permission, and Gwyn’s weekly trips to Hobbiton to buy food. But Melonna couldn’t help wondering if Cec was being honest about that.

When they finished, Melonna embraced Cec and left the room, promising to visit as soon as possible.

“You had a very serious discussion,” Frodo remarked.

“Yes.” Melonna nodded. “But…please don’t ask anything,” she touched his arm briefly. He nodded. “I will not.”

Just when Frodo opened the door to outside, a girl with long black hair rushed in. Her pale face was flushed, and her black-pearl eyes were alight with worry.

“Oh, slow down, miss,” Frodo warned when she nearly plowed into Melonna. She looked up into her eyes.

“Gwyn!” She gasped.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Melonna,” she breathed. She stepped back—and ran!

“Gwyn! Wait!” Melonna shouted after her. She started after her.

“No! Melonna!” Frodo yelled, chasing her.

Gwyn ran like a graceful doe, as she quickly jumped and dodged across the street, but Melonna ran like a bull—ready to charge and crash.

“WATCH OUT!”

Melonna screamed when a hobbit on his pony yelled at her and nearly trampled her. But she felt hands yank her out of the way. The hobbit scowled at her and galloped away. Melonna looked up to see who was holding her—it was Frodo, and he looked furious. Melonna looked back across the street.

Gwyn was gone. Melonna moaned in despair.

Frodo didn’t seem to care. “What were you thinking?!” He demanded as he helped her up. “No wonder Merry wanted me to go with you.”

Hurt, Melonna rammed her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry! I…I just haven’t seen Gwyn for so long, and I wondered why she would run off like that…” she shook her head and watched the landscape before her. The sun was halfway down the sky now.

“We’d better go.” Frodo replied stiffly. “I will prepare the wagon.”

They spent the rest of the trip in silence. They arrived to Bucklebury, gathered the things Merry asked for, and then headed back home. By then, it was almost twilight, and they were hungry. Frodo dropped Melonna off.

“Wait.” He took her arm.

“Yes?” She could barely meet his gaze.

“I am sorry. I’m not mad at you.” Frodo gazed at her sincerely. Melonna avoided his gaze, knowing that once she looked into his eyes, she would be lost.

“’S’okay.” She muttered and jumped off the wagon. Frodo unhitched the ponies and put the wagon away, and then headed home. He hoped he and Melonna would be at better terms tomorrow. He didn’t know why, but when that pony nearly trampled Melonna, he’d felt an inexplicable fear shoot through him. But that feeling went deeper lengths than he’d ever known.

Maybe dinner and supper would be able to get his mind off such a confusing and mysterious day.

* * *

 

Gwyn tiptoed up the hill and into the very backyard of the house she’d slept in two nights ago. She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the window, entranced by the aroma of… _Ugh!_ She winced. Burnt pot roast?!

She glanced at the couple at the table. The male hobbit’s back was turned to her, so she could only see his yellow vest—and yellow hair, with brown streaks, just down to his shoulders. Melonna was sure she’d seen him from before.

And the girl across from him…Gwyn’s heart twisted. _Oh, dear Melonna. If only you understood why I ran away from you today…_

Melonna looked up. Gwyn gasped and ducked down, scurrying away back into the forest like a little frightened mouse.

She stooped down behind the bushes and stared longingly at the house. Then she turned and walked into the night, which was as black as her hair and eyes.

She hid so well in the nighttime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? :-) Thank you for reading!!! <3


	5. The Raspberry Pie Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which "Just Merry" momentarily turns into "Pride and Prejudice", and Pippin is an idiot (but only in the best of ways <3).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT??? I finally updated "Just Merry" over at FFnet . . . Chapter 22 is officially up, at last!!! :-D And to celebrate, I thought I'd post Chapter 5 here, and hopefully this weekend, I'll post Chapter 6!! :-)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!! Lots of sass and silliness galore. ;-)

Two weeks after her last visit to Hobbiton, Gwyn’s mother sent her out once again to pilfer more bread and vegetables—oh, and fruits.

Frankly, Gwyn was getting tired of all this. Why couldn’t she get anything from Crickhollow? Bucklebury? Stock from The Yale? Woodhall? These were the villages closest to Newbury. But, no. Mama insisted on _Hobbiton_. Hobbiton was almost two hours away on horse, and three on foot.

Plus, Mama was paranoid about the fact that people from the closer towns would already know about them and reject them their food, like Newbury’s folks did. Hobbiton was the best place to gather food, Mama insisted.

But she also said she should be there— _unseen_. And get the food by _stealing_ it. Gwyn was saddened at how her mother’s morals and personality had changed ever since…that dark day.

But on this trip, Gwyn had different intentions. She wasn’t going back home. She had enough of her mother. She had enough of the villagers’ cutthroat rumors and snubbing looks. Gwyn was only sorry her father and brother would be worried about her.

Yes, she was running away.

Gwyn peered up at the slightly overcast sky. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t rain. She suddenly halted, wondering if she remembered to tie up her raft. She was about to head back to the woods when she heard two male hobbits laughing and chatting. Fear shot through her. She flew down the path and dived behind a bush.

A few minutes later, two hobbits walked past her. She could see glimpses of them through the little green leaflets and branches. Gwyn gasped when she saw the blonde one—it was the same one she had jumped on two weeks ago! Peering closer, Gwyn admired his handsome features: a crooked jaw and smile, one dimple in his cheek, and messy blonde hair with light brown streaks, all curly and lying across his shoulders. He had a funny, almost pug-like nose, Gwyn thought. But it was cute, too—

 _Oh, stuff and nonsense! You stop that at once, Gwynra Whitfoot! This isn’t a time to sigh over an attractive hobbit lad—this is the time to do what Mama says!_ She mentally scolded herself.

“Oh, here we are, Pip,” the blonde hobbit lad stopped by the gate of the hobbit-hole with the rosebushes Gwyn was hiding among. She remembered what his name was— _Merry_. Someone had said it the morning she slept in his house. Gwyn glanced up at his face. He was smiling. He was _Merry_.

Merry and his friend, a hobbit just an inch or so taller than him, walked up the steps to the house. They knocked. Gwyn inched away from sight. While Merry was blonde, “Pip” had brown hair. He had slightly less handsome features, but he wasn’t unpleasant-looking, either. Gwyn could tell they were young, probably quite past their tween years.

The door opened, and a smiling hobbit maiden with pretty golden curls greeted them. “Hello, Merry! Pippin!”

“Hello, Rosie,” Pip—or _Pippin_ —greeted back. “Have you got food while we help you prepare your wedding?”

“ _Pip!_ ” Merry jabbed him in the ribs.

“What?!” Pippin said, laughing. “You said you hoped to eat something, as well!”

Miss Rosie laughed. “Oh, you two! I know you so well that I already have food all prepared.” She grinned at them.

Pippin beamed while Merry rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m sure it’s a lot better than Melonna’s.” He retorted.

“Oh,” Miss Rosie shook a finger at him playfully. “Don’t you ever let her hear that.”

Gwyn couldn’t hold back a giggle, and Merry whipped around. “Did you hear _that_?” Gasping softly, Gwyn burrowed deeper into the bushes, wincing as the thorns pricked her.

“No.” Miss Rosie shrugged and Pippin shook his head. They entered her house, while Merry hung around, still glaring at the front yard suspiciously. After a moment, he seemed to give up and reluctantly entered the house. Gwyn sighed in relief.

After five minutes of waiting, Gwyn was sure she was safe to come out. She quietly crawled out of the bushes and scurried across the lawn. She always ran across this yard, into the forest, which led to the marketplace of Hobbiton.

But something caught her eye this time. She looked to the left—and, there, on the windowsill beckoned a glorious sight that she hadn’t seen in years.

_Red raspberry pie._

Her mouth watered. She hadn’t had any kind of pie since she was a little girl—before her father lost his job as a respectable representative of Newbury.

And raspberry pie was her favorite.

Suddenly, stealing didn’t seem so wrong to her anymore. Gwyn took a step forward.

The pie was calling her.

She licked the dryness off her lips. She smiled, walking forward. She reached up to take the pie.

Then she felt someone grab her shoulder. Startled, Gwyn screeched and whirled around, smashing the beautiful, warm pie into— _Merry’s face_!

“Oh!” Gwyn cried. “I’m so sorry, Merry!”

Merry wiped the pie filling off his face. He seemed inexcusably _livid_. Suddenly, confusion sparked in his deep blue eyes. “Hey, how do you know my name?” His jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re…”

Gwyn never heard his last words. She felt herself turn light, and she was falling.

Then everything went black.

* * *

 

 “Miss? Miss?” She felt someone’s rough, but gentle hands pat her face. Someone else’s hand pressed a cool rag to her forehead.

“She’s very pretty.” A male voice commented.

“Oh, _hush_ , Pippin.” A female voice scolded. “Can’t you see she’s out cold?”

“We should get the healer,” another voice she didn’t recognize stated in concern.

“ _NO!_ ” Gwyn jolted awake and leaped. But she felt herself being slammed back into the soft mattress.

“No, miss!” the female spoke firmly. “You’re still very lightheaded.”

“But—but—no healer! _Please!_ ” Gwyn pleaded.

“All right, all right,” the hobbit opposite Miss Rosie pushed her back down gently. It was Merry. “No healer for you. You just look a tad ill, that’s all. Very pale.”

“I’ve always been this way. Pale.” Gwyn retorted defensively.

Merry eyed her dubiously. “Oh? Well, what is your name?” His eyes twinkled with mirth. “And there’s no escaping us this time, miss.”

“Gwyn.” She muttered. “Of Buckland.”

“What village?” Pippin piped up. He stood directly above her, with Sam beside him.

“N-Newbury,” Gwyn replied. She was developing a headache now.

“Oh, didn’t Frodo and Melonna go there two weeks ago?” Miss Rosie looked up to meet Merry’s gaze.

“Yes. Melonna kept going on and on about a girl named Gwyn…”

“Oh…” Gwyn groaned and laid back. _Fool of a Goldworthy!_ She silently cursed Melonna.

“She’s burning up,” Miss Rosie felt her forehead.

“No, I’m not,” Gwyn retorted.

“Yes, you are, dear,” Miss Rosie’s motherly tone booked no argument. She rose up. “I’ll get you some tea. Sam…Pippin…” she sent them pointed glances. “Do stop hovering and get out of this room.” She shooed them out, but Gwyn noticed how Rosie seemed to have a different, softer tenderness towards Sam.

Merry removed the cold cloth from Gwyn’s forehead and dipped it in a washbasin. “So…why don’t you tell me what a pretty lass like you is doing out here in Hobbiton?” He frowned. “And why were you spying on us? And trying to steal Rosie’s pie?”

“I—I wasn’t trying to _steal_ ,” Gwyn sputtered. “Th-there was…a fly.” She sniffed and lifted her chin.

“Oh, please,” Merry frowned. “I saw it all. Came outside because I was _sure_ I heard someone. Then I saw you reaching up for the pie Rosie made for Pippin and me!”

“Can you blame me?!” Gwyn shot back. “I haven’t had pie in a long time, considering that I’m a hobbit!”

Merry rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t want an argument, I just want an explanation. Who you are. Why you jumped on me two weeks ago. Where you are from. Your name…” he listed off his stated questions as he placed the cool washcloth on Gwyn’s forehead.

“I said I was from Newbury,” she muttered, nearly inaudibly. She kept her gaze away from him.

“I’m from Bucklebury.” Merry smiled at her. “We’re fellow Buckland folk, aren’t we?”

Gwyn nodded guardedly.

“Why did you jump on me?”

“Didn’t I tell you on that day? You scared me.” Gwyn cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Ah.” Merry nodded. “Yes, I remember. And what were you doing here all the way from Newbury?”

Gwyn’s mind went blank. “Uh—I—I…”

“…Yes?” Merry prodded. He obviously wasn’t the type to leave without answers. Gwyn hated that type.

“Traveling.” Gwyn gave her most honest answer possible.

Merry nodded, but his eyes were suspicious and dissatisfied.

Miss Rosie came back into the room, holding a tray of tea. “Hello, miss,” she smiled brightly at Gwyn. “I hope you like spearmint tea.”

“Thank you.” Gwyn took the hot cup. She reveled in the sweet smell and took a tiny sip. From the corner of her eye, she caught Pippin and Sam peeping in the room, staring at her curiously. She raised her head and frowned. Miss Rosie followed her glare, and rose up her hands. “Oh—! Shoo, you lads! _Shoo!_ ” She scolded, waving them out and shutting the door.

Merry shook his head. “Sorry ‘bout that. Pippin is very nosy sometimes, and Sam, too…”

Miss Rosie shook her head and sat down in her chair at the other side if the bed. “When I marry Sam, I hope he will stop doing that!”

“Oh, you’re marrying him?” Gwyn asked curiously.

Miss Rosie blushed, clearly overjoyed. “Oh, yes.” She sighed. “It’s set for May first. It took him long enough to ask me, I think!” Merry chuckled and nodded.

Gwyn nodded, falling into her own thoughts. How was she going to get out of here? Were they going to ask her more questions?

“What’s your name again?” Miss Rosie smiled gently at her. “Forgive me if I’m wrong—but is it ‘Gwyn’?”

“Y-you’re not.” Gwyn muttered. “I’m-I’m Gwyn.”

“Short for…” Merry asked pointedly.

“Gwynra.” She lifted her chin. No way was she going to let them drag everything out of her.

“Gwynra Whitfoot, huh?” Merry nodded. Eyes popping wide, Gwyn turned her head sharply. “How do you know?!” She shot at him. Her cloth slid from her forehead.

Merry raised his hands defensively. “My cousin Melonna was talking about you the other day. She said you ran into her and—“

“Oh, I’m going to kill her!” Gwyn cried and smacked the covers.

Miss Rosie patted her shoulders. “Oh, please do calm down, dear. I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm.”

Gwyn ignored her and daggered Merry with her eyes. “What else did she tell you?!”

Merry’s eyes widened and he seemed offended. “Nothing! She said the rest wasn’t her business!”

“Good.” Gwyn muttered and lay back, crossing her arms.

“You didn’t seem like the angry, killing type to me,” Merry smiled in amusement, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Gwyn wanted to stick her tongue out at him.

_I used to be more of that way…and that part of me still remains. But only a little._

“Oh, sweetie,” Miss Rosie patted her arm. “Maybe if Merry got Melonna to see you, you’d feel better, and—“

“No.” Gwyn replied, but politely this time. “No.” She shook her head.

Miss Rosie nodded only after a moment’s hesitation.

Merry frowned slightly. “How were you and Melonna friends? She never mentioned you to me before…”

“Well, if she is your cousin, then you should be aware she once lived in Newbury. At least for a while.” Gwyn answered, lowering her eyes to the soft rose pink quilts. The memories she had with Melonna were bittersweet.

“Oh, yes, I knew that.”

Miss Rosie looked over at Merry. He looked back. A message passed between them. Miss Rosie nodded slightly. “All right.” She glanced down at Gwyn. Her heart-shaped face brightened in a kind smile. “I’ll go ask Sam to hitch up a carriage for you—“

Gwyn’s eyes widened, fear snaking through her. “No!” She shook her head. “No. It’s fine. I have a raft. I’ll row home myself.” _Even if I don’t really plan to return home._

Merry shook his head. “All right. You’re impossible to argue with, so I’ll let you go this once.”

Gwyn’s forehead creased slightly. Why did he think they’d see each other again?

Rosie got up, taking the tea and wash cloth away. “Meriadoc, check her forehead and see if she’s fit to go yet.” She gave Gwyn a motherly-scolding glance. “That is, _if_.” Her eyes twinkled as she left.

“’Meriadoc’?” Gwyn looked up at the taller-than-most hobbit. “That’s the oddest name I’d ever heard of.”

He glared, and then smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“Good.” He laid a rough hand on her forehead. “Not so warm anymore.” He nodded. “Your temperature must have risen when you were stressed before.” When he pulled away, Gwyn noticed lots of scars and calluses from his hand, it seemed…war-ridden. Glancing up at his face, she saw he bore an ugly white scar on the left of his forehead, but it was hidden well by his bangs.

Merry seemed to sense her scrutiny and he quickly brushed his bangs into place so that his scar would be hidden better. He cleared his throat. Realizing she was staring like a fool, Gwyn looked away and blushed.

“You know, if you really want that pie, you can have it,” Merry suggested. “Really?!” Gwyn looked up at him.

“Sure.” Merry smiled at her. “You liked it so much you almost stole it.”

Ashamed, Gwyn looked down. “I really am sorry. Forgive me, please.”

Merry shrugged. “I’m not really mad at you anymore. I don’t have a reason for it, do I?”

“No.” Gwyn shook her head. After a moment’s pause, she got up to a sitting position and removed the covers from her. Merry frowned, realizing what she was going to do. “Whoa, you can’t leave yet,” Merry rose quickly and took her arm.

Gwyn froze, and spoke quickly. “No, I have to go!”

Merry saw the panic in her eyes, the same fearful, sorrowful emotion that always stayed in those black eyes. Feeling bad that he’d distressed her, he let go. “All right.”

Gwyn stepped around him, found her white shawl with fringes knotted at the edges and an asymmetrical pattern of daisies all over, and wrapped it around her. She smiled at Merry—it was a small, slightly nervous smile, but Merry saw how lovely she was when she smiled. Gwyn inhaled deeply. “Uh…maybe you need to show me out.” She said.

“Oh, yes,” Merry snapped out of his reverie and walked to the door. “I like your shawl, by the way. Did you make it?”

Gwyn pulled the shawl tighter around her. “Actually, no…” she lowered her eyes. “Someone made it for me long ago.” Once again, her eyes saddened and went distant.

Merry nodded. Whoever Gwyn was, she sure did have a past she probably didn’t want anyone to know.

“I have a cape, too,” Gwyn spoke up. “It’s a sinopia red, but it looks more like brown. It’s flannel, but I lost it the night I went to your—“ Gwyn halted herself, horror flashing through her. _BIG-MOUTH!_ She silently screamed.

Shock flooded Merry, and then anger extinguished it. “It was _you_ ,” He stated in a low tone. He scowled. “You _snuck_ in my house that night!” His voice rose.

“I’m _sorry_ —“ Gwyn whimpered, stepping back. She felt the door for the knob.

Merry clenched his fists. “I can’t believe you would invade my home like that, leave a mess, and—“

Indignation aroused Gwyn’s darker side. “Well,” she retorted sharply, “I’ve met you once, I’ve met you twice, and I can easily infer that you are the most selfish, bipolar, and—and—a BRANDYBUCK!” She was too angry to think. She opened the door abruptly, just as Miss Rosie came in and nearly bumped into her.

“Oh!” Miss Rosie exclaimed. Her hands flew to her chest. “I—I heard raised voices—“

“Ask him!” Gwyn told her, trying to be as civil as possible. She looked down the hallway, and saw the door to outside. She swiftly made her way there, struggling not to cry.

She slammed the door open and left it ajar as she stormed down Miss Rosie’s stone steps.

“Wait.”

Gwyn stopped at that soft, contrite voice. She turned around slowly, to see Merry standing in the doorway, holding onto the doorframes.

His face clearly was guilty. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitfoot.” He took one step down. Miss Rosie came up behind him and gazed at Gwyn with concern.

Merry continued, “I…I am not a generous person, you are right? But…if the circumstances had been that you asked me to take shelter in my home…I would have let you. But…because you were in desperate need of shelter…then, I forgive you. I have no reason to be angry at you. By the way…I _am_ a Brandybuck.” He blinked, waiting anxiously for Gwyn’s response.

Her response was nothing he’d expected. She straightened up gracefully, lifted her chin regally, and replied in a gentle tone. She spoke as if she was the queen of Gondor. “Mr. _Brandybuck_. What I said to you were words of thoughtless anger and spite. I was in desperate need of shelter, yes, but I never wanted to anger you about it. And…” she drew in a shaky breath. “…The name Miss Whitfoot will not be known in the villages of The Water.” Slight worry appeared in her eyes. “No one will know who I am—ever. I am Gwyn, simple as that.” She looked over Merry’s shoulders to Rosie. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Rosie. And, Merry…I don’t want the pie. I don’t deserve it.” She finished off with a tiny nod and a flattened smile. “I apologize.” She turned around to leave.

Merry didn’t want her to go. “Wait—Gwyn.”

She looked back at him, bewildered.

“Will we—will I see you again?” Merry inquired.

Gwyn stared at him for a long moment. Her eyes bespoke of certainty but sorrow. “No.” She finally replied. “I think not. It would be better that way.” With that, she left.

Rosie and Merry watched Gwyn walk off, Her gait appeared slow, as if she was sad.

“The poor girl!” Rosie fretted as she and Merry came back in. Sam and Pippin ran into the hallway, bumping and tousling each other.

“We saw her leave!” Pippin burst out curiously. “Who is she? Why was she so scared? Is she okay? Why did she yell at you?”

“ _Pippin!_ ” Merry snapped. Pippin immediately clammed again. The four hobbits looked at each other silently. Then Pippin started again. “Why did you yell at her? How old is—“

“ _Pip._ ” Merry booked his tone with no argument. “Stop.”

“Okay.” He muttered almost glumly.

After another moment, Sam spoke up quietly. “Maybe you can help her.” He told Merry.

“I don’t know.” Merry shrugged dubiously. “She doesn’t seem like she wants it.”

“But you should try,” Rosie glanced at Merry reproachfully. “She really seemed scared and sad.”

Merry nodded. “Yes…” He set his shoulders. “Tomorrow. Frodo, Melonna, and I will go to Newbury to find her.”

Pippin peered at him hopefully. “…Can I come?”

Merry narrowed his eyes. Pippin got the message and looked down.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, good luck, Merry.” 

Merry smiled at his friends. “Thanks.”

Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder: this chapter was first published when I was 17, at least. So my writing style was different back then, so please bear with me. :-)
> 
> Your thoughts are always welcome!! <3


	6. Questions Asked and Unanswered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merry is a well-intending nosy busybody, Cec is a protective brother, and Frodo is a jerk. (I'm an awful author to write my favorite characters as meanieheads, am I??)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: thank you all so much for the kudos you've been leaving here!! It makes me so happy to know that people are reading and enjoying Just Merry!! :-D
> 
> Friendly reminder that this chapter was written around the time I was 17, so please excuse the strangeness of my writing!! :-)

When morning arrived bright and early, Merry and Melonna went over to Frodo’s home to join him on his journey to Newbury. 

While Frodo kept his usual quiet demeanor, Merry and Melonna chattered like a couple of woodpeckers. Frodo wanted to reach over and tape their mouths shut. _I guess sitting between them was a bad idea,_ he groaned inwardly.

They now were arguing over Melonna’s cooking. Merry wanted to hire cook, while Melonna insisted her cooking wasn’t _that_ bad.

“Is _too_!” Merry shot back for the third time. “Your cooking is just as horrid as Lady Éowyn’s, and that’s the only downside of her!”

Frodo groaned in frustration. “ _Merry!_ ” He snapped. “ _Melonna! Please._ I’m trying to steer the ponies, and you two are _distracting me_.”

“Sorry.” The two replied in unison. Frodo was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes.

As expected, two minutes later, Melonna had to open her mouth and let her pride take its reins once again. “I still think if you give me a few more chances, I’ll improve!” She sniffed indignantly and straightened her spine.

“No, Melonna, I think you should stick to the housecleaning, and I’ll just get Rosie to do the cooking. Or Sam!” Merry declared and straightened up, too.

“You two are acting like _tweens_. _Stop it._ ” Frodo warned them. “I _mean_ it!”

Melonna sighed in defeat and threw up her hands. “Oh, all right then. I have no idea who this Lady Éowyn is, anyway.”

“She’s the White Lady of Rohan, remember? I think I did mention her before. Anyway,” Merry explained, “She was…a friend of mine.” Merry looked away. Frodo knew he was trying to hide his true feelings.

“Oh, yes,” Melonna replied. “Where is Rohan? Is she a queen now?”

“No; her brother Éomer is,” Merry replied. “Éowyn – she…married the steward of Gondor, Faramir.” Frodo could tell Merry was struggling against his feelings. Sympathy flowed through him.

“Oh. What was she like, Merry?” Melonna prodded on; unaware of how the questioning was getting on Merry’s last nerve.

“She—“ Merry replied, tone curt. He made an obvious attempt to calm himself, and then he replied, “She was like no one you ever met, _Melonna_.” He said her name with a final warning. Melonna’s face turned pink, finally realizing how annoyed Merry was getting.

“I see.” She replied, pressing her lips together tightly, and she looked away.

Finally, the two were quiet, but now Frodo wondered which was worse—the two bickering, or feeling an awkward tension between the two.

He wondered why they were acting so bitter to each other.

When they arrived in Newbury, Frodo observed the villagers. All of them seemed like rather normal and cheerful-like folk, talking to each other as they passed by. In the middle of the town circle was a fountain. Hobbit children threw coins in it. Frodo took in the friendly atmosphere as he steered the ponies to a stop at the stables.

Melonna hopped off before Frodo while Merry took off from the other side. “I wonder where she lives,” Merry wondered aloud.

“Her family lives in that little grey soddy down there,” Melonna answered, pointing down the wide street to a sad, dreary house of sod, standing next to a tall building with a sign that read _APOTHECARY_.

“Are they poor?” Merry asked, walking over. Frodo listened silently while he tied up Strider, named after King Aragorn, and Arwen, after his wife, who saved his life from the Nazgûl – Frodo shook his head, wiping away the traumatic memory.

“Not poor…” Melonna replied softly, falling into thought. “Well, yes. But don’t talk about it to them, Merry. They’re awfully sensitive about it.”

Merry frowned. “Is that all you will tell me about Gwyn?”

“Yes.” Melonna lifted her chin. “The rest is for you to ask someone else, Merry, and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? But don’t expect anyone to give you any answers.”

Merry shook his head and walked to the back of the wagon, taking out Gwyn’s brown cloak. “I just want to return her this and see if she’s all right! What’s the problem with knowing her…’ _secrets_ ’?!” His tone was edgy once again. Frodo sighed and spoke up, “Merry, what’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, he’s just still miffed about the eggs I served him for breakfast.” Melonna cut in bitterly. “Can’t a hobbit hold down some egg shells in his stomach?!"

“Apparently, I can’t!” Merry shot back.

“Merry! Melonna!” Annoyance rose up in Frodo. “If you don’t stop this fighting this instant—I will go home _without_ you!”

Melonna’s dark blue eyes widened and she leaned back slightly. “ _Well!_ ” She sniffed indignantly, spinning on her heel and striding off.

Merry huffed and wrapped Gwynra’s cloak across his arm and followed his cousin. Frodo followed. “Is this morning’s breakfast really what making you so mad?” Frodo asked quietly.

“No.” Merry answered slowly. “I just don’t like that Melonna knows things about Gwyn and won’t tell me. I don’t like hearing about secrets and not finding out about them. I like answers and truths.”

Frodo nodded. He was the opposite – he liked to keep to himself, and when others had secrets, he didn’t really care to find out about them. Ever since the Quest, he never had been the same.

Melonna entered Cecilius Whitfoot’s clinic, with the males far behind. Merry saw the sign above. “Hey, I wonder if the healer is Gwyn’s relative…” he spoke aloud. “She has the same last name.”

They entered the waiting room to find Melonna talking with the blonde secretary. “…Yes? Thank you.” Melonna smiled pleasantly, and Frodo noticed how her dimples showed, further sweetening her youthful beauty. Frodo blinked quickly, wondering where those thoughts just came from.

Melonna faced Merry and Frodo. “Do you mind if you wait here? I need to speak to Cec and see where we can find Gwyn.”

“Won’t she be in her home?” Merry inquired, brow furrowed.

“If she is, we won’t be welcome.” Melonna answered and left. The mysterious answer only gave yet another frustrating question about Gwynra Whitfoot. Frodo had met her only briefly, but after hearing Merry and Melonna’s stories, he was just as intrigued as Merry. The only difference was: Merry wanted answers, and Frodo didn’t want to meddle.

“You may seat yourselves,” the secretary rose slightly from her seat and motioned to the benches across the room. Frodo bowed his thanks and he and Merry gratefully sat down on the nicely cushioned seats. Long trips with their backsides on a bouncy, hard wagon seat did wonders to their bones and muscles.

Just a few moments later, the door down the hall opened, and Frodo could see the silhouettes of Melonna and Cec walking briskly towards them. When they came to the light, Frodo saw that Cec seemed agitated and almost angry, and Melonna seemed apprehensive and anxious.

Cec frowned deeply and pointed at Merry. He looked up with a bewildered expression.

“You, Meriadoc Brandybuck?!”

“Yes?” Merry rose up and Frodo did the same, just in case anyone needed back-up.

“Where is my sister?!” Cec barked. Merry’s eyes widened. This just confirmed his and Frodo’s suspicions.

“I don’t know – “ Merry started. “She left yesterday…from a friend’s house.”

“Melonna told me, yes,” Cec’s dark eyes turned threatening. “What was she doing there? Why was she there?”

Merry seemed a bit irritated at Cec’s manner. “I could ask the same thing, Master Whitfoot. I’m telling you this, we came to see if she was all right, and Melonna here said you could help.” He cast a pleading glance at Melonna. She shrugged apologetically.

Cec shook his head. “I cannot help strangers.”

“Merry’s hardly a stranger, why, he’s my cousin—“ Melonna quickly put in, but Cec held up a hand.

“No, Melonna.” He turned to her. “You were wrong to come to me for help…” he leaned closer and whispered something inaudible. Melonna’s face turned pink, from embarrassment or guilt, Frodo didn’t know.

Merry leaned sideways to Frodo. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know.” Frodo whispered back.

Cec looked at them again. “Why do you want to know?” He asked Merry, placing his massive-for-a-Hobbit hands on his wide leather belt around his waist.

Merry hesitated. “I’m – not sure, but…I’m concerned for her. You see, sir, one night she snuck into my home and slept there when it was storming outside. She left before I found her, and…I didn’t see her again for two weeks. Yesterday, she, ah, tried to nab some pie, and I caught her. She fainted, and my friends and I could tell she was very troubled, so I decided to see if she needed help, and I want answers to why she…seems so troubled.”

Cec was silent for a long moment. Frodo could almost see the wheels in his head turning. Finally, he answered.

“You won’t be getting any answers from me, or from the rest of Newbury, Master Brandybuck.”

At that moment, Melonna’s warning words from earlier came true.

Merry was undaunted, but he did seem discouraged. Frodo almost wanted to ask about Gwyn to help Merry out, but kept silent.

“At least let me know where she is,” Merry half-pleaded quietly.

“You can’t.” Cec replied grimly and curtly.

“Why _not_?” Melonna looked up at him sharply, seemingly slightly insulted.

“Because, she’s _missing_.” Came Cec’s reluctant, worried answer.

“Missing? How? When?” Merry’s eyes widened. His words reminded Frodo of his own, echoing to him from the deeper parts of his dark memories…when he asked Faramir of where Boromir was, before he found out he was dead.

“As one of the last people who saw her, I was hoping _you’d_ tell me.” Cec retorted stiffly. He sounded just like Captain Faramir just then. Frodo hid his faint smile at the irony of the situation.

Merry shook his head while Melonna threw up her hands helplessly. “Merry told me yesterday Gwyn left Miss Rosie’s house – alone. Walked down a path and didn’t return.”

Cec closed his eyes and sighed wearily. Frodo recognized the stance of a deeply worried brother after his own little sister.

“This isn’t the first time, is it, Cec?” Melonna commented quietly.

“No.” Cec shook his head and sat down in a chair, and the others imitated his motion. “But she’s never been gone for more than 24 hours. So I am even more worried.”

“Why did she leave home, Cec? Maybe with some clues, we can…” Melonna proposed hopefully.

“I don’t know.” Cec looked up at the lass. “Mother sent her to Hobbiton to st— _buy_ some fruit, but she never returned.”

Frodo frowned at his hidden little slip. What was he hiding?

Melonna continued, “What do you think might’ve happened?”

Cec set his jaw stubbornly. “A lot of things, and of which I shall not utter in front of strangers.”

Merry seemed ready to give up. He rose tiredly. “Very well, then. I apologize for taking up your time, Master Whitfoot. I certainly hope Gwyn will turn up soon.”

Cec muttered something that surprised Frodo. “Hopefully before folks start to talk again.”

_What did he mean by that?_

Merry was silent, Melonna seemed apprehensive, and Frodo’s mind was a whirlwind of questions as they reached their wagon.

* * *

 

The ride home was completely silent, but Frodo still felt a fog of despondency over him.

Merry hopped off the wagon even before Frodo stopped the ponies. “I’m off. Good night, Frodo.” Merry made an effort to smile. Frodo nodded. “All right.”

But Melonna didn’t budge from her seat. “May I help you with Strider and Arwen?” She asked, keeping her eyes on Merry’s departing figure.

Frodo wished to be alone, but he didn’t want to be rude to her. He nodded his consent.

They took the ponies to their stable, but stopped their wagon by the stable first. Then after the ponies were in their pens, they headed up to his house. Frodo wondered why Melonna was following him. He turned around to face her before entering his house. “Miss Melonna, why are you following me?” He inquired, bemused.

Melonna shrugged. “Well, I’m not in the best mood to be around Merry right now, so…may I please stay in your house for just a few minutes?”

Frodo’s plans for the evening were to write more in his uncle Bilbo’s book, not to have company. But he felt obliged to allow Melonna. “Very well then,” he sighed and opened his door for her.

As Melonna entered, Frodo took off his brown velvet jacket and hung it up. He sensed Melonna enter his living room. Frodo decided to make some tea for her and himself as well.

Ten minutes later, Frodo became concerned about the fact that the whole house was silent. Usually, if he knew Melonna, she’d come into the kitchen and start babbling. But it was as if Melonna had disappeared.

“Miss Melonna?” He called out tentatively, walking to his living room. Melonna wasn’t there. He glanced around, wondering where she’d gone off to. Melonna wouldn’t just leave without a goodbye, would she?

Something caught his eye when he went across his hallway. His breath caught in his throat. Down the hallway, to his study…the door was open!

Suspicion snaked into his gut. He strode down to his room and pushed the slightly ajar door wide open. _There_ —Melonna was standing over his desk, her eyes transfixed on his uncle Bilbo’s book—the one Frodo was currently working on!

“What are you doing in here?” Frodo abruptly went to her and took hold of her arm. She yelped and jerked around. Her face was pale from shock. “Oh! M-Mr. Frodo, you gave me a fright.”

“Well, can you blame me?” Irritation overcame suspicion. “You were sneaking in my private rooms, weren’t you?!”

“I-I’m sorry,” Melonna’s white face gave way to a deep red. “Truly, I am. I got quite curious, and forgot my manners.” Her eyes pleaded him to understand. “Please forgive me.”

But Frodo was too angry and inconvenienced. Melonna was in his private study. She had been reading his book. The book he didn’t want anyone to read! It held his deepest secrets—like the Quest!  What if Melonna told people?! “Just get out of my study, will you?” Frodo’s words came out, but he didn’t intend to sound them harshly. He saw the hurt on Melonna’s face as he said it.

But Melonna Goldworthy wasn’t one to be hurt for long, for she always led her hurts to anger. She scowled. “Excuse me, Mr. Frodo. I made a mistake, I apologized for it, but I don’t think I deserve this treatment! Whatever has you so secretive and rude, anyway?!” She snapped.

Frodo’s insides shook with anxiety. What had she already found out? “What do you already know?” He shot back.

Melonna’s insides were shaking with anger. She felt bad for being nosy, yes—but Frodo didn’t have to be so rude about it! It was as if she’d committed a crime or something like that! “I’m only at the part when you and the others were at the Prancing Pony Inn in Bree!” She snipped. “And what is so terrible about that, ‘Master Underhill’?! What’s with this ‘Ring’?!”

“ _That_ is none of your concern, Miss Goldworthy,” Frodo’s tone was of cold steel now. “I must ask you to leave. _Now._ ”

Melonna huffed. Frodo was just as bipolar as Merry! “Polite one minute, rude the next, what happened to you, Frodo?!” she snarled, “What’s so bad about the Quest? What of the Ring? What happened to it? Did you gnaw it off yourself—along with your _finger_?!” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm as she wildly gestured at his four-fingered hand.

This was the last straw. The room suddenly turned deathly quiet.

“Miss Goldworthy, it would be best if you left immediately. Please.” Frodo spoke up, this time quietly and with a sudden calm. But Melonna saw the pain and agony in his eyes. And she realized she’d gone too fast this time; she’d hurt him.

“Griffin wouldn’t treat me this way,” she muttered to herself as she swept past him and down the hall.

Melonna cringed when she heard Frodo call out, “Wait. Who’s Griffin?”

Pausing, she opened the front door, turned to look at Frodo, and retorted, “None of _your_ concern, _Master Baggins_.”

With that, she left and walked down the darkened road with an air of dignity.

But inside, she knew she was just as wrong as Frodo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad, bad Frodo . . . and poor Melonna, too. Don't worry; their story gets better soon!! ;-)
> 
> Please feel welcome to leave your feedback here; I'd love to hear your thoughts. :-)


	7. Escape from Newbury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newbury Hobbits are superstitious and snobby, Merry has a rescue-the-damsel-in-distress moment, and Gwyn does not think she is that damsel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!! :-) I apologize for the slight delay; remember, if you want to read the next 15 chapters that are already published, you can find them on FFnet, under the same title and same pen name!! :-)
> 
> Another reminder that I wrote this chapter when I was 18, so things were different for my writing style back then, but at least Gwyn's character does finally find more development in this chapter . . . :-)
> 
> Enjoy!! :-D

Gwyn walked up to the old door of her soddy. She'd returned home after her attempt to escape; she had tried heading towards Girdley Island, northeast of both Hobbiton and Newbury, and became lost. She ended up going south…she really had no idea what was going on. It was as if an invisible force led her back "home". Home—where Mama, Cec, and Papa were.  
  
It was dawn as she approached the door, the rising sun emanating warmth and streaking the morning sky with pink. No Hobbit was quite awake yet, and the only sound was that of singing birds all around the countryside.  
  
Frankly, Gwyn was relieved that she had arrived home without folks sending her odd glances. She'd been missing for...what, two days?  
  
Gwyn inhaled sharply, smoothed her wild black hair away from her smudged face, and entered the silent, still house.  
  
A cold hand suddenly gripped Gwyn's shoulder. She yelped and whirled around—to see Mama's pale face glowering at hers.  
  
"Mama!" Gwyn uttered. "I—" She halted when she saw a different expression in her mother's dark blue eyes than she was accustomed to.  
  
"Where have you been?!" Mama scolded sharply. But she did not grasp Gwyn's shoulder as tightly as usual.  
  
Tired and hungry, Gwyn was irritated at her mother's tone, and her secret feelings inside threatened to make her admit to herself that she was bitter towards Mama. "I ran away, Mama." Gwyn retorted flatly. She didn't care for once if Mama slapped her for running away.  
  
Mama didn't slap her. She withdrew her hand and stared at Gwyn in surprise. "Why would you do that, foolish girl?" she cried.  
  
_Because of you_ , Gwyn's bitter heart retorted within. But Gwyn refused to acknowledge it.  
  
"I was a fool, Mama," Gwyn replied calmly. "I was wearied by your orders…I do not want to steal anymore!"  
  
Mama pressed her thin lips together. She hesitated a moment before speaking, as though she had changed her mind about what to say. "Daughter, your father is very ill, your brother is busy with doctoring, and I am busy taking care of this place and your father. I know stealing is wrong, but we also know the villages of Buckland will reject us and refuse any compassion. And you know perfectly well _why_!"  
  
Gwyn looked down, knowing better than to speak of That Dark Day. "I am sorry, Mama."  
  
Mama was silent for a minute, blinking and keeping her gaze on Gwyn. She was thinking deeply, Gwyn knew.  
  
Just when Mama opened her mouth, Cec burst into the door, nearly bumping into Gwyn. His face brightened in shock and relief.  
  
"Sister!" he cried, encircling Gwyn with his broad arms. "You are safe! Where have you been?"  
  
Gwyn returned her brother's embrace and fought back tears. "I ran away, Cec."  
  
"Why?" Cec pulled back slightly, looking down at Gwyn.  
  
"She tires of following my commands," Mama replied softly.  
  
Gwyn glanced sideways at her mother, who seemed extremely subdued. "No, Mama." She stepped away from Cec and closer to her mother. "I only tire of doing what's wrong."  
  
Mama nodded in understanding. "Oh. Yes."  
  
"…Mother?" Cec moved to stand by Gwyn. Concern registered in his eyes. "Are you all right?"  
  
Mama was never this quiet…or less severe-looking.  
  
Mama looked up at Cec and Gwyn. "Yes. I am all right, my children. I am just very…tired…and…" she sighed and turned away, looking at the door that led to Papa's room.  
  
"Is it Papa?" Cec asked, just when Gwyn realized Mama's uncharacteristic behavior was due to her worries about Papa. She was the kind of person who always hid her feelings.  
  
Mama shrugged her bony shoulders. "He is even more ill, Cecilius. He hallucinates…"  
  
"Can I see him, Mama?" Gwyn burst out, fear flooding her. _Oh, my poor papa…_  
  
Mama's eyes flashed. "No!" she replied curtly. "It…it is most unwise. He'll think you are…" Mama shook her head, eyes dark with anxiety, and she looked away.  
  
"What about me?" Cec asked hopefully.  
  
"No," Mama answered firmly. "I think it is best that only I see him for now."  
  
"Please, Mama," Gwyn pleaded. She had to see him. She hadn't seen him in three days.  
  
Cec took her elbow. "Gwyn…" Worry creased his brow. "They're talking about you."  
  
"What?" Gwyn and Mama responded in unison, hands clenched and ready to defend.  
  
Cec looked back and forth between the two, clearly distressed. "They think Gwyn ran away because she is guilty of a crime. Some say she stole things—"  
  
"Of course I did," Gwyn muttered, holding back the last statement she deeply wanted to say. _And it's Mama's fault._  
  
"Yes, but others say you have… _killed_ —"  
  
" _Oh!_ " Mama cried out, covering her mouth with her hands, horrified. She glanced at Gwyn. Gwyn shook her head frantically, terror gripping at her. _Who said that?! Why?! I'd never murder anyone!_  
  
"How can this be?!" Mama demanded.  
  
Cec waved his hand in frustration. "Swanahilda Banks, my secretary. She overheard a conversation I had with some nosy Hobbits yesterday. Swanahilda apparently can't keep her nose out of others' businesses, either." Cec glanced at Gwyn momentarily, "I think Gwyn should stay inside for a few days. They'll want to—"  
  
"No," Mama spoke up coldly. She frowned at Gwyn. "She must leave."  
  
Confusion and slight hurt swirled within Gwyn. "Mama…" she shook her head again.  
  
"I think that is a good idea," Cec quietly spoke up. Gwyn closed her eyes.  
  
"She'll have to pack her clothes…Cec, get her some bread and cheese. And a skin of milk! She'll go to Hobbiton." Mama told Cec, and he responded with a resigned mutter. It was as if Gwyn was an accused convict, and she was running away from undeserved punishment.  
  
"… _Gwynra!_ " Mama exclaimed. "Listen to me, girl," she gripped her daughter's arm tightly and forced her to stare into her eyes. "You are to go to Hobbiton. I want you to go there as fast as you can. No looking back. Go to Hobbiton; find a place you can stay at. And do not return here, at all, until I tell you to. Do you understand me, daughter?"  
  
Gwyn nodded quickly, her eyes widening in submission and fear. But her mama did not seem angry at her…only…  
  
Cec tromped out of the kitchen hastily, carrying a canteen of milk, bread wrapped in cheesecloth, and a chunk of cheese. He dropped the food on the table and headed for Gwyn's bedroom, apparently to gather her clothes.  
  
Mama straightened and narrowed her eyes at her daughter. "I will tell your father that you are leaving." She turned towards her bedroom. Gwyn noticed her wipe her eyes with her white sleeve.  
  
Mama was _crying_?  
  
Cec came out of Gwyn's bedroom with a tightly knitted olive green bag of clothes. "Where is your flannel cloak, Gwyn?" He inquired.  
  
"I…I left it behind in Hobbiton, accidentally." Gwyn replied as honestly as possible. She wanted to leave arrogant Meriadoc Brandybuck out of this.  
  
"How?" Her brother looked up at her curiously while he shoved the food in the vase-shaped bag and worked the leather strings to tie it up.  
  
"Um…" Gwyn's mind searched for a believable story. "…A kind stranger allowed me to stay in—their house for the night. I think I must've forgotten my cloak there."  
  
Cec eyed her dubiously, clearly suspicious. But he thankfully dropped the subject as he refocused on the stubborn knots of Gwyn's bag. "Well, maybe you can ask to stay there again." He muttered as he headed out of the door.  
  
Gwyn snorted, following him out. "As if."  
  
Cec glanced sideways at her once again, startled by her answer. "What do you mean?"  
  
"…Nothing," Gwyn muttered, looking away quickly.  
  
"Well, you need that cloak. It will keep you warm," Cec answered mildly, gazing at the sky. The pink hues were turning blue as the sun finally crept over the horizon.  
  
"Yes," Gwyn replied softly, distracted by the beautiful creation.  
  
After a long two minutes, Cec commented quietly, "She was really worried about you when you were missing, you know."  
  
"Who?"

 

"Mother." Cec glanced at her.  
  
Taken aback, Gwyn lifted her eyes to meet his. "Mama was worried about me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
That was unexpected. Gwyn blinked and stared down at the gravel lining their property.  
  
"Deep down…" Cec touched her shoulder gently, comforting her in the simplest of ways. "She truly cares about you."  
  
The corner of Gwyn's mouth jerked cynically. "Right." She scoffed. "She cares about me. So is her way of slapping me occasionally is the way she cares? What about the way she glares at me angrily? What about—"  
  
"Gwyn," Cec interrupted, forcing her to stop. "Grief has blinded her. Shame has impaired her ability to really show how she feels. You know she refuses to cry in front of us. You know she won't even hug Father. You're not the only one who's hurting, Gwyn."  
  
Gwyn looked up at her brother. He met her eyes, eyes filled with pity. "Don't think I haven't noticed, sister. I see how bitter you grow each day…I see how your patience wears out little by little, and your hurt is turning into anger. It's going to corrupt you, little sister."  
  
Gwyn had no words to say. She could not fathom the feelings within her, but she knew her brother was right, no matter how much she hated to admit it.  
  
Mama cleared her throat. Startled, Cec and Gwyn jumped and turned around to face her. Gwyn hoped she hadn't heard their previous conversation.  
  
"I must go back to work," Cec sighed. He kissed Gwyn's forehead and hugged her. "Be safe, sister. Eru is watching over you." With that, he stepped away and walked down the wide town square towards his medical clinic.  
  
Gwyn and Mama stood alone on their front steps. Mama folded her hands together and gazed at her daughter with a neutral expression.  
  
Awkwardly, Gwyn swallowed hard. "Um…goodbye, Mama. I…hope I'll see you again soon." She turned around to depart, but then Mama grabbed her sleeve. Warily, Gwyn jerked away, but Mama held on persistently.  
  
"Mama, you'll tear my blouse." Gwyn said, hoping she'd let go. But she didn't.  
  
"Gwyn…Gwyn, listen to me, girl." Mama repeated insistently. Gwyn stopped squirming and looked into her mother's gentle eyes.  
  
"Whatever you do…whatever happens…remember to be brave," Mama told her. "Remember to be my daughter."  
  
Surprised by the last statement, Gwyn said nothing. Then Mama did the unexpected. She let go of Gwyn's sleeve and touched her face gently, a gesture of affection she hadn't shown in years.  
  
"You'll be safe, Gwynra." Mama stroked Gwyn's cheek lightly, and then stepped back.  
  
Gwyn nodded silently before turning away to walk down the street purposefully. She tried not to think about what had just happened. It…it made her feel…  
  
Was Cec right? Did Mama really care? Was Gwyn really bitter?  
  
She shook off the bothersome thoughts and kept on walking. Activity in the village was already starting. Gwyn kept her eyes in the direction of the Brandywine River.

* * *

 

Merry mused to himself as he guided his ponies, Sage and Posie, down the sandy roads of High Hay, a tiny town just ten miles north of Newbury. Merry was planning to head back to Bucklebury to gather more things to take back to his house. The two fools Melonna and Frodo had forgotten his fishing pole and favorite dagger the last time they went there.  
  
He wanted to pass through Newbury…and maybe find Gwynra Whitfoot there. He knew Cecilius wouldn't appreciate that, however, especially after his uptight attitude towards him yesterday. And he didn't know Gwynra's opinion; she seemed fairly certain she'd rather not see him again.  
  
And that was two days ago. Merry thought maybe Gwynra was right—it was for the best that he didn't see her again.  
  
It had been hard for him to think positively in the past few weeks. With Sam and Rosie running around and getting ready for their wedding, Pippin going off on fishing trips by himself—and Merry had no idea why—Frodo being sullen and depressed, and Melonna being…Melonna, Merry had barely any time to himself.

Melonna went around the house, doing all the work pretty well, but they went to Rosie's house at meal times. They'd been doing that since the roast beef incident. Merry hadn't seen Frodo in some time, and Melonna had muttered he probably was just being his secretive, reclusive self.

And Pippin…Merry had no idea why, but Pippin seemed to prefer doing things by himself now.  
  
And there was the matter about Eowyn. Merry noticed that he thought of her less each day…but the pain in his heart still lingered. _I'd rather the pain to fade away than the memory_ , Merry mused to himself.  
  
When would he ever overcome it? He'd tried many different methods: meditating, working hard to keep his mind off other things, trying to convince himself that he and Éowyn weren't meant to be. Merry even told himself that his feelings were merely a figment of his imagination!  
  
Eru must hate him. Why would the lord of all creation torment him so? Merry shook his head. _O_ _,_ _Eru, please take away the pain but leave the memory!_ He pleaded.  
  
Merry wasn't much of a praying Hobbit, but turning to Eru was probably the most hopeful solution to his dilemma.  
  
" _You witch!_ You are putting a curse on our town!"  
  
Merry's head shot up, and he stared into the direction of the holler.  
  
"We heard the stories from your village…the curse you've put over them! Why are you here?!" Other voices erupted from the crowd of Hobbits surrounding the food market being displayed in the middle of town. Bewildered, Merry maneuvered Sage and Posie around the crowd, hoping to find whom they were yelling at.  
  
"I am not a witch! I never—" a voice shot back indignantly, but the protests of the crowd drowned out that female voice.  
  
"What's going on?" Merry raised his voice, but nobody seemed to hear him.  
  
"We demand you to leave at once!" A portly Hobbit jabbed his finger at this disembodied voice. Merry carefully stood up on his wagon seat to try to get a better look.  
  
"I need more water! I forgot mine earlier… _please_!"  
  
"Water! You only want to use it for your black magic!" A plump Hobbit lass in a red dress shrieked and lunged forward at the owner of the voice.  
  
Merry finally saw a head of curly black hair in the middle of the crowd—the accused "witch".  
  
The red-dressed Hobbit and her portly friend reached for the retreating victim.  
  
"Get away from me!" the victim shouted and turned into Merry's direction. Immediately, Merry recognized her—it was Gwynra Whitfoot. Gwynra struggled to escape the crowd, but the Hobbits slapped and grabbed at her.  
  
Furious at this injustice, Merry yelled "Hyah!" and slapped the reins on his ponies, making them rear up, hooves kicking. Frightened, the crowd immediately let go of Gwynra and backed away, chattering. Gwynra stumbled and fell before Sage and Posie.  
  
"Gwynra!" Merry backed down his ponies and moved them to the right until the wagon was facing the fallen girl. The crowd stood by the food stalls, subdued and murmuring. But they still shot Gwynra vicious and wary glares.  
  
Gwynra looked up at Merry. Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw dropped. "Merry?"  
  
"Take my hand!" Merry outstretched a hand to her, grinning. "You're coming with me."  
  
Gwynra hesitated for a second, her eyes dropping to the ground. Then determination seemed to take over. She got up on one knee and grabbed Merry's hand, and he easily hoisted her up next to him.  
  
The crowd suddenly started crying out in outrage.  
  
"She's a witch!"  
  
"You'll be cursed!"  
  
"Shove her off!"  
  
"She's not a witch!" Merry shot back. He flapped the reins at Sage and Posie, and they were off. _Let's forget about Bucklebury for now._  
  
Crossing a bridge over a narrow creek nearly hidden by tall grass, Merry was careful with Sage. Sage, for some reason, had a fear of bridges.  
  
Noticing how quiet Gwynra was being (not that it was unusual); Merry cast a cautious glance at her face. Her head was bowed, and her wild curls hid her face.  
  
"Are you all right?" Merry asked.  
  
"Yes." Gwynra nodded, her tone clipped.  
  
Merry shook his head. He'd just rescued her and she didn't say _thank you_? "Is there something you want to discuss, Gwynra?" Merry attempted to be understanding.  
  
"No." Gwynra finally looked up at him. "And please call me Gwyn." She wrinkled her nose slightly.  
  
Merry nodded. "All right, Gwyn. Mind telling me what happened back there?"  
  
"Yes." Gwyn tilted her chin, her eyes flashing.  
  
Merry looked away. _Difficult girl._  
  
"It's private," Gwyn continued matter-of-factly, as if Merry was a six-year-old.  
  
"Don't think I can't tell," Merry muttered.  
  
From the corner of his eye, he saw Gwyn cross her arms and slouch. _Now who's the six-year-old_?  
  
After a silent moment, Merry gathered in a breath. "Look…Gwyn, I know we don't know each other very well, but I am concerned about you. Yesterday, I visited your brother Cecilius and—"  
  
"You saw Cec?" Gwyn interrupted, her face paling even more than her usual shade.  
  
"…I had to," Merry explained, wondering why it distressed Gwyn so. "Melonna and Frodo came with me as well."  
  
"Do you know what you have done?!" Gwyn cried, clenching the iron armrest of the wagon.  
  
"What?" Worry struck Merry.  
  
"This is why I had to leave _again_ …people were talking about my disappearance! They thought I - because of you—" Gwyn spouted, clearly panicking.  
  
"Calm down," Merry held up a hand, "What exactly happened? How is this _my_ fault?!"  
  
Gwyn pressed her lips together, composing herself. Then she sent Merry a guilty expression. "Two days ago, when I almost stole Miss Cotton's raspberry pie…"  
  
"…Yes?" Merry prodded.  
  
Gwyn sighed. "I was running away from home."  
  
Shock and sympathy welled up in Merry. "I see," he said.  
  
Gwyn shook her head and inhaled shakily, clearly upset and reluctant to speak any further. "My life back home isn't as peaceful and lovely as most. I was unhappy, so I decided to leave. But then after meeting you again, and Miss Cotton, and your other friends…I got lost somewhere near Budgeford. I was trying to find Girdley Island."  
  
Merry chuckled. He couldn't help being amused at Gwyn's obviously poor navigation skills. "Budgeford is just a half hour's wagon ride away from Girdley Island."  
  
"Oh." Gwyn's face turned pink, and she scowled, annoyed both with Merry's humor and herself.  
  
Merry cleared his throat. "So, what changed your mind?"  
  
"Me getting lost," Gwyn muttered. "I finally came home this morning…and then Cec told me that Swanahilda Banks, Cec's secretary, had gossiped to the village that I'd disappeared. And…well, let's just say that I have…quite a reputation…so they assumed the worst."  
  
"Why?" Merry inquired incredulously.  
  
Gwyn gave him a pointed look.  
  
_Fine. Be that way._  
  
Gwyn sighed again. "My mother told me to leave. The villagers might have tried to hurt me or my family if I stayed there."  
  
Merry was bewildered and baffled by this situation. Why would the Newbury folk hate Gwyn and her family? What did they do? What happened?  
  
"Where are you off to, then?" Merry asked in a quiet voice as he carefully crossed the Brandywine Bridge. He sensed Sage's stiff posture as he trotted across, while Posie was perfectly calm next to her brother.  
  
"Mama told me to go to Hobbiton."  
  
"Coincidentally, I'm going there." Merry smiled at her.  
  
Gwyn rolled her eyes. "You _live_ there, don't you?"  
  
Merry just laughed. "Where are you going to stay in Hobbiton?"  
  
"I don't know." Gwyn shrugged. "Do they have inns?"  
  
"Oh, yes."  
  
Gwyn nodded. "I could…but I don't have money, I just realized." She frowned, bothered by the situation she was stuck in.  
  
Merry bit his lip, contemplating over what had just crossed his mind. Maybe…  
  
"…You, uh, could…" Merry drew in a deep breath before proposing his idea. "You could…sneak in my guest room again, if you want."  
  
Gwyn turned her head slightly, glancing at Merry from the corner of her eyes. Her sharply arched black eyebrows shot up.  
  
Merry's own eyebrows rose, and he smiled slightly, letting her know he meant it.  
  
Gwyn looked away quickly, smoothing out her filthy apron. "No, no, I couldn't." She shook her head.  
  
"Oh, I don't mind at all," Merry replied truthfully. _Okay, maybe just a little bit._ "Besides, Melonna will be happy to see you. She longs for company."  
  
Gwyn stared at him for a long moment, considering it. Then she shyly looked away. "All right. Thank you."  
  
"My pleasure." Merry grinned to himself as he focused on the long road ahead.  
  
He didn't notice Gwyn's tiny smile playing across her lips.

* * *

 It was almost time for elevenses when Merry arrived home. Melonna wiped her hands on her apron as she rushed to the window. She was surprised to see a dark-haired Hobbit maiden next to him on the wagon seat. The girl looked familiar.

Curious, Melonna quickly pushed her jam-covered hands in the blue and white china washbasin, and then headed for the door.  
  
She opened it and flew down the cobblestone steps to the gate. "Merry!" She waved at her cousin. He waved back, and the girl next to him gazed at her, albeit nervously.  
  
Melonna knew who it was this time. Excitement rushed through her. " _GWYN!_ " she cried out as she followed the wagon to the stable.  
  
Gwyn jumped down from the wagon seat and braced herself for the advancing Melonna. The golden-haired girl ran to Gwyn and wrapped her into a tight hug. At first, Gwyn was unsure of what to do, but then she relaxed and returned the hug. She had missed Melonna very much.  
  
"I can't believe you're here!" Melonna chattered. "What are you doing here? Why are you so filthy? Are you tired? Why did you run away from me two weeks ago? Are you—"  
  
" _Melonna!_ " Merry and Gwyn burst out in unison.  
  
Merry grinned. "Don't kill our guest with your questions." He winked and unhitched Sage and Posie.  
  
Gwyn clasped her hands together and smiled slightly at Melonna. She smiled back. "Why, Gwyn? Why have you not been writing to me? And why did you run away the other day?"  
  
Gwyn shrugged slightly, hesitant. "I…I wasn't thinking, I suppose. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's all right." Melonna reached out and took her elbow. "Are you hungry? I made raspberry jam and spread it on some biscuits Rosie made for us. And we can drink milk. It's elevenses!"  
  
Gwyn nodded. "I am hungry. I love raspberry jam." For the first time, she actually smiled—a wider, more genuine one than her last.  
  
"Good! Let's go." Melonna linked her arm around Gwyn's and they walked up to the house.

Melonna cast a quick glance behind her at Gwyn, who was looking around the hallway. "You've been here before, have you?" Melonna asked.  
  
"Yes," Gwyn blushed, which was uncharacteristic of her. "When I broke in two weeks ago. It was dark, though…so everything looks different in the light."  
  
"You know, we really don't blame you," Melonna advised her gently. "With the terrible weather that night, it's understandable that you were in desperate need for shelter. I'm just sorry we weren't here to welcome you."  
  
Gwyn rubbed her left arm with her right hand. "Thank you." She still seemed nervous and out of place.  
  
Wanting to put her at ease, Melonna took her hand and led her into the kitchen. "Come on. You'll love my raspberry jam. It's the only thing I can cook well, I promise." She grinned.  
  
Gwyn bit her lip, clearly suppressing a smile. "I heard you make a really…interesting roast beef."  
  
Melonna rolled her eyes. "Will Merry ever get over that?! How was I supposed to know the eggs were rotten?!"  
  
"What eggs?" Gwyn's eyes shone with amusement and curiosity.  
  
Just then, Merry came into the kitchen, wiping off his greasy hands. "The eggs were one of the ingredients for the special seasoning, and Melonna failed to check if they were still fresh or not." He smirked at Melonna. She stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
"Mmm!" Merry's eyes sparked with interest as he saw the jar of chilled raspberry jam on the counter. "My favorite thing that you can cook, Melonna." He began to make his way over, but Melonna quickly jumped into his way and slapped his hand.  
  
"Ow! What was that for?!"  
  
"Wash your hands first, for goodness sakes! I don't want horse sweat in my jam!"  
  
Gwyn wrinkled her nose, disgusted by the idea. But she apparently enjoyed the banter between the two cousins.  
  
As Merry grumbled and went across the kitchen to the washbasin, Melonna placed one fist on her hip and chuckled, grinning at Gwyn. "I pity the Hobbit lass who marries him."  
  
" _I heard that!_ "

* * *

 

After a brief elevenses of biscuits with raspberry jam and milk, Gwyn wanted to retire, so Merry let her go in her guest room for a nap before lunch.  
  
"What are we going to do?" Melonna asked softly after five minutes of quietly sitting on the porch steps.  
  
"I don't know." Merry stared across the plains across the street. "She's hiding a lot of things, is she?"  
  
Melonna did not reply.  
  
"Melonna?" Merry looked sideways at her. She was leaning back on her elbows, avoiding Merry's gaze.  
  
"You know something, don't you?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Something that is Gwyn's own business," Melonna answered reproachfully.  
  
"Think she'll ever tell me?" Merry commented, half to himself.  
  
"Knowing Gwyn, I don't think so." Melonna sighed. "She's a very private person; hard to read. Just like…" Frustration welled up in her, and she sat up abruptly, grabbed a loose stone from the pavement, and tossed it across the yard. "Like Frodo," she muttered angrily.  
  
Merry watched her curiously. "Something happen between you two last night?"  
  
"…No." Melonna snorted unconvincingly.  
  
"Right." Merry nodded, seeing that Melonna didn't want to discuss it.  
  
They sat in silence once again, enjoying the mild weather and singing birds of late morning.  
  
What were they going to do with Gwyn? What was her secret?  
  
Was she safe? Were _they_ safe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! Thank you, my friends. :-)


	8. A Day in Peaceful Hobbiton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gwyn is cringeworthily neurotic, Pippin can't get break, and Melonna has secrets of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! :-) 
> 
> This is sort of a filler chapter, but near the end, something mysterious happens, so… :-D
> 
> Please enjoy this mostly-fluffy chapter. :-D (And please keep in mind that this chapter was written when I was an extremely awkward teenager, so please bear with me. :-)
> 
> Thank you all of my lovely reviewers and favoriters and subscribers!!! :-)
> 
> Many thanks to my awesome beta reader, mecherry!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. All rights belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and New Line Cinema.

Gwyn woke up to the light from her window. Everything in her guest room was bright. It must be past dawn. Gwyn’s stomach growled, impatiently informing her of its hunger.

She smiled and stretched out on the soft feather bed, reveling in its coolness and coziness. _Ha! Goodbye to you, bothersome, ugly mat of a bed!_ She inwardly gloated.

 _I must be mad—talking to an object like that which is far away from me,_ thought Gwyn, shaking her head and sitting up. Honestly, Gwyn did talk to objects in her own mind all the time. It was probably due to her unsocial lifestyle.

But now…she knew, she was in Hobbiton. A very social village. And she was living with two very chatty Hobbits. Gwyn bit her lip. She hoped she didn’t drive them crazy with her introverted personality. (Or that _they_ would drive _her_ crazy with their extroverted personalities…)

Her stomach grumbled once again. _Okay, okay!_ Gwyn thought to herself. She pushed aside the covers and padded to the door. She heard voices from the hallway.

“No, Merry, like I said three times already, I am not going with you to visit him. I’d rather go visit Mount Doom, really!”

“Oh, naïve cousin, if you really did, then you’d regret saying that. I’m sure he’s not mad at you! He’s not one to hold grudges.”

“Did I not report to you of his attitude towards me the other night?!”

“Hmm, let me recall… _no_!”

Gwyn rubbed her arm with her hand awkwardly, standing before the two bickering cousins. Cousins who bickered at least…four times a day, from what she’d noticed.

“Well, I suppose I will tell you—” Melonna snipped, turning her head away haughtily, only to see Gwyn staring at her with raised eyebrows.”—Oh, hello, Gwyn.” Her face brightened suddenly. Gwyn managed a small smile.

“Good morning, Gwyn,” Merry’s frowning face had evaporated into a dimpled grin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yes,” Gwyn nodded. “I was very comfortable.”

Melonna burst in, “I made you breakfast!”

Gwyn’s face paled. Last night’s ham…disaster. Merry looked away, obviously agreeing with Gwyn’s prediction—whatever breakfast _Melonna_ made, it must be _bad_.

“Uh…” Gwyn tried a sympathetic smile, “I think I’ll pass. I’m not hungry.” _The worst lie a Hobbit could ever tell._

Then her stomach growled. Merry chortled, seeing through Gwyn’s bare-faced lie.

Melonna looked hurt. “You don’t want breakfast? It’s eggs!”

“ _Burnt_ eggs,” Merry muttered in a feigned cough. Melonna shot him a dangerous glare.

“I can cook,” Gwyn volunteered.

“You can?!” Merry and Melonna replied, hopes lifted.

“Yes,” Gwyn nodded, “Not the best, I admit, but the foods I make are filling and quite decent.”

“More than _hers_?” Merry grinned teasingly. Melonna rolled her eyes.

Unexpectedly, even to herself, Gwyn smiled back. “More than _hers_.” But she then gave Melonna a reassuring wink. Melonna seemed disappointed only for a flash second, but then she shrugged. “That’s fine and dandy! I hate cooking, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you mention it earlier, anyway?” Merry asked. “The ham surely could’ve been saved from Melonna’s overly thick and spicy sauce.”

“I forgot.” Gwyn muttered sheepishly. “I’m quite a forgetful person.”

“That’s true,” Melonna nodded. “You forgot your cloak here, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Gwyn answered, hoping Melonna wouldn’t explain to Merry about her embarrassing stories of her forgetfulness.

Fortunately, she didn’t, because a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll get it,” Merry announced and walked down the hall. He opened the door to reveal a brown-haired Hobbit standing there, with a friendly smile upon his face. That Hobbit was familiar.

“That’s Pippin Took,” Melonna explained. “Merry says you met him once.”

“Oh, yes. He talked too much,” Gwyn blurted out, just as Pippin and Merry walked into hearing distance.

Pippin crossed his arms indignantly, “I do _not_.”

Merry and Melonna laughed.

“So, Pip, what brings you here?” Merry placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I thought you were avoiding me for the past few days.”

“Oh, I wasn’t, Merry,” Pippin reassured him. “I just was avoiding Melonna’s cooking.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Melonna exclaimed, red-faced. “Is that why you never come here anymore?! Because you hate my cooking?!”

Gwyn snickered, covering her mouth with one hand. Merry shot her a knowing smile.

Pippin rolled his eyes. “Not just because of that. Merry, I can’t believe you’d forget my sister Pearl just had her seventh child. Andwise was on a trip to Long Cleeve; he arrived home last night. I was busy being the man of the house for Pearl.”

“Oh, yes,” Merry nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Pippin nodded. “It’s fine. I fished by myself because I was mostly focusing on the task of getting food.”

“I understand.”

“You’re not as foolish as I expected,” Gwyn told him. Pippin stared at her, a bit critically. “Oh, thank you. Hey, you’re that girl—the one who tried to steal Rosie’s pie!”

“Yes, I am,” Gwyn mumbled, blushing.

Fortunately, Pippin refocused on Merry once again. “Would you like to go fishing with me today?”

“Yes!” Merry nodded. “But first, I’m taking Melonna to see Frodo.”

“Nuh- _uh_!” Melonna protested. “You are _not_!”

 _Ah. So that was what the fuss was about earlier,_ Gwyn thought.

“But, Melonna—“

Gwyn rolled her eyes, tired of the endless bickering. Apparently, it was mutual with Pippin, who held up a hand. “How about Miss Gwynra goes instead of Melonna, Merry?”

Alarm blared in her. Let herself be seen in public?! And what if this Frodo was much too inquisitive? She shook her head quickly. “Uh—no, no…Melonna should go.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Pippin mistook her alarm as a silly fear of strangers. “Frodo Baggins is very kind. Quiet and sad, but he’s a good host and he’ll mind people’s own businesses.” He smiled convincingly, and quipped, “Just don’t ask him about the Ring or Gollum.”

“ _PIPPIN!_ ” Merry snapped.

“Whoops. It just slipped out,” Pippin muttered sheepishly.

As if sensing the question in her head, Merry gave her a pointed glance. “Don’t ask.

“I do mind people’s own businesses, too.” Gwyn straightened her spine indignantly.

Merry raised his hands in inclination. “All right. So, will you come with me? It’s just right up the road.”

Gwyn considered it just for a moment. “…Very well then.” She agreed.

“There, it’s settled,” Pippin grinned. “I’ll be heading back home now. Merry, meet you at elevenses?”

“Elevenses it is, Pip.”

Pippin left the house, and Merry smiled at Melonna. “You’ll be fine here by yourself?”

“Yes.” Melonna smiled and rolled her eyes. “You’re so protective.”

Merry chuckled. “So, shall we go, Gwyn?”

“Ye— _oh_!” Gwyn looked down at her slept-in, worn-for-four-days blouse and skirt.

“Ooh,” Melonna bit her lip. “I wish I could offer you my clothes, but you’re much taller than me.”

“Frodo has his mother’s clothes. She was your height…about three-feet-three, I presume?” Merry volunteered.

“Yes,” Gwyn nodded.

“All right then,” Merry responded, “I’m sure Frodo wouldn’t mind lending you his mother’s clothes.”

“What about his _mother_?” Gwyn replied wryly.

“She’s dead,” Merry answered softly.

“Oh.” Was all she could muster.

“I’ll get your apron,” Melonna muttered, clearly wanting to get out of this strangely awkward situation.

After Gwyn donned her apron and Merry had his fishing cap, they headed out. It was a bright day in Hobbiton, and the bustle of downtown nearby could be heard.

“So, what was life like for you in Newbury?” Merry wanted to know.

 _Oh, no. Not questions about my past._ Gwyn groaned inwardly, but she summoned up the most honest answer as possible. “Um…it was very normal for me and Cec. My mother wasn’t as distant as she is now, and I had more friends back then.”

“Were you poor or rich?” Merry inquired.

“Not exactly poor,” Gwyn replied, slightly irked by this question. “Well…yes, we were…rich.”

Merry’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” Gwyn tried to avoid the question.

“You know—how did you become poor?”

“Why do you care?” Gwyn retorted, striding quicker up the hill.

“I’m simply curious,” Merry answered, his brow furrowing, in either deep thought or effort of walking uphill, Gwyn wasn’t sure.

“Well, I don’t want to tell you,” Gwyn replied pettily. She heard Merry’s irritated _hmph_.

“Wait!”

Gwyn halted quickly to the sound of Merry’s voice. She turned to see him standing by a gate leading up to a Hobbit-hole. Merry’s mood obviously had swing back to cheery and teasing. “This way.” He smirked at her. Gwyn muttered a few words she’d be scolded for uttering and followed Merry.

“This is Frodo’s home, Bag End.” Merry explained as he rapped at the round door.

The door opened a crack. Two bright, blue eyes peered upon them, and the door opened even wider. A handsome, fair-skinned Hobbit smiled slightly at Merry, and cast Gwyn a wary glance—only before his brilliant eyes flashed in recognition. “You nearly bumped into me the other week.” He pointed out, his voice calm.

Gwyn remembered these unique eyes so well. He’d been with Melonna that one day when she ran away from them. She nodded. “I remember you, too.”

Merry looked between the two, shocked. Gwyn spoke up again, “You know my name, don’t you?”

“Yes. Gwynra Whitfoot.”

Frodo inclined his head, as of bowing to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Gwyn said nothing, taken aback by his chivalrous manner. She distrusted chivalrous Hobbits. (She disliked almost all Hobbits, actually.)

Frodo seemed not to take notice of her cool demeanor and turned to Merry. “What brings you here?” He inquired.

“I was wondering if you would be willing to come with me to Bucklebury tomorrow, since I still need to get more things from my old house. Actually, I was going to have Melonna go with you, but…” he shook his head. Gwyn noticed the way Frodo stiffened when he heard Melonna’s name.

“I’m willing to go with _you_ ,” Frodo answered politely. Gwyn wondered why Frodo and Melonna seemed to dislike each other. They looked just fine in her last encounter with them.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened between you two?” Merry muttered, annoyed.

“Yes.” Frodo answered calmly, but there was a warning in his eyes.

Merry shook his head. “I thought you were a forgiving person. What did Melonna do? Or _you_?”

Frodo sighed. “I will tell you…but I’d rather that Miss Whitfoot didn’t hear this discussion.” He sent her an apologetic look.

As much as Gwyn wanted to be in the know, she still respected others’ privacies. “All right.” She glanced up at Merry. “I’ll be heading back to your house, if you don’t mind.”

Merry smiled teasingly. “All right—just don’t get lost.”

Gwyn blushed madly and whirled around on her heel, stalking down the steps. She could sense Merry’s gaze on her.

Gwyn calmed down after she left Bag End and made her way downhill. She reveled in the cool breeze which eclipsed this warm day. Listening to birds chirping, she hummed and let her minds wander as well her steps did.

About half an hour later, Gwyn came upon a quiet bend on the road and approached a unfamiliar house. She turned around, searching for Merry’s house.

It was nowhere to be seen. Gwyn turned around again, scanning the landline. But this was a dead end, with the house on the left being the last one. Before her stood the forest.

“Oh, no,” she sighed. She’d lost her way once again, and Merry would surely never let her hear the end of this.

“Miss?”

Startled, Gwyn jumped and turned around to face a stocky Hobbit with golden blonde hair with brown streaks. He gazed at her curiously, holding a miniature shovel in his hand.

“Hey, I remember you,” he smiled shyly. “You’re Gwyn, the lass who tried to steal my Rosie’s—“

“Raspberry pie,” Gwyn chorused, finishing with him and rolling her eyes.

“I take that people have been telling you quite a lot recently?” The male Hobbit asked with a half amused, half sympathetic smile.

“Yes.” Gwyn nodded wearily. “What’s your name, by the way? I’m afraid it has slipped my mind.”

“Samwise Gamgee, but you can call me Sam. Everybody does.” His round face brightened and he puffed out his chest, sticking out his hand. “Pleased to meet you again, Miss Gwyn.”

Gwyn cautiously shook his head only for a brief second and smiled slightly. “No hard feelings about my stealing ‘your Rosie’s’ pie?”

Sam visibly blushed. “Of course. No hard feelings.”

“That’s good.” Gwyn answered, not knowing what else to say—and then she recalled her goal. “Oh! Do you know where Merry lives?”

“Why, yes,” Sam nodded. “And I’d warrant you done right past his home. Just right up there, about fifteen minutes’ walk.”

Gwyn inwardly berated herself. _You and your foolhardy daydreaming!_

“I can bring you back, if you want,” Sam kindly offered, “That is, after I get my gardening done. I’m a gardener.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Gwyn nodded. “But please don’t tell Merry.”

Sam smiled knowingly. “Aw, he doesn’t mean a thing by his teasing, Miss Gwyn. He pokes fun at everybody.”

Gwyn shrugged. “I’m not much of a fun person.”

Sam didn’t answer. He probably agreed and didn’t want to offend her. Gwyn held back a snort. Shy Hobbits made her distrustful as well.

“Would you like to help me with weeding while you wait?” Sam asked with a hopeful smile.

“Fine and dandy,” Gwyn shrugged, echoing Melonna’s words from earlier, and hopped over the fence instead of going through the gate.

“Do you know how to weed?”

The unexpected question halted Gwyn’s hand from reaching for a tall, smooth stalk coming up from one corner of Sam’s large garden.

Gwyn bent her back up, giving Sam a quizzical glance. He stood at the other end of the garden, looking a bit worried. 

“Uh…” Gwyn didn’t want to admit the truth. “…Well, of course I do. You take out weeds from the other…plants…right?”

Sam nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced. “…Yes. And this is a vegetable garden. The tall stalk you almost pulled is an _onion_.”

“Oh.” Gwyn nodded quickly. _Oops._

“Yes. So pull out the weeds.” Sam smiled encouragingly and bent down over some plants which looked like poison ivy, but they clearly were vegetables, since Sam handed them easily.

After ten minutes, Gwyn felt like she was handling weeding well…except Sam constantly had to inform her gently to leave the peppers, tomatoes, and potatoes alone. She grabbed a tall, thick stalk with tiny prickles and yanked it out.

“No, no, _no_!” Sam yelped, “That’s a PUMPKIN!”

_Oops._

Gwyn immediately let go of the pumpkin plant, but it was already dislodged from the deep soil.

Sam sighed sadly. “This was my first year planting pumpkins.”

Gwyn’s face grew hot. How could she be so stupid? She should’ve gone right out and admitted that she knew _nothing_ about gardening.

“Miss Gwyn, it’s really all ri—“

Gwyn ignored Sam’s temperate voice as she rushed to the gateway but jumped right over it.

“Miss Gwyn, wait!” Sam cried out.

“I have to go!” Gwyn called over her shoulder and broke into a run, fighting back tears.

She ran all the way down the road, and then turned onto a road on the right, forgetting about Merry’s Hobbit-hole. The road eventually led to the busy part of Hobbiton. Gwyn immediately stopped before the crossroad. In the middle of the cobblestone square was a tall wooden sign that read: WELCOME TO HOBBITON.

Gwyn turned away, not wanting anyone to notice her. Then a shout brought her back to attention. She saw Pippin Took almost wobbling towards her, holding a yoke with two buckets of water.

“Ho, there, Gwyn! What brings you here?” Pippin asked cheerfully, seemingly ignoring how heavy those buckets must be.

“I…” Gwyn didn’t know what to say.

Pippin seemed not to take notice of her quietness and stepped closer to her. “Would you mind terribly helping me with the buckets?”

Gwyn nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you!” Pippin flashed her a charming grin and leaned sideways, allowing Gwyn to remove one bucket from the yoke. Then Pippin removed the other one and hoisted the yoke under his arm, and his other hand handled the bucket.

After a few silent moments of walking down the sandy road, which was surrounded by vast plains of wheat, Pippin started talking. “Isn’t it a nice day?”

“Yes.” Gwyn answered.

“What’s your favorite season?”

“Winter.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to take out my toboggan that Papa made me and I can sled down the big hill beyond my village.” Gwyn hoped that was the last long answer she’d tell.

“I love spring, because the flowers are in bloom and I go fishing with Merry more often then.”

Gwyn nodded, indicating that she was listening. _Oh, I wish I wasn’t so socially awkward!_

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…you?”

“I don’t have a favorite color.”

“Ah.”

“Do you have a beau back in Newbury?”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “No. I was never interested in any Hobbit lad.”

“But were there?”

“A few, yes.”

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

Oh, fiddlesticks. He was even worse than Merry. “I told you, I have one brother.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.” Pippin shook his head, staring at her curiously. Gwyn’s mean side wished he’d accidentally steer off the road and tumble into the ditch.

After other five minutes, Gwyn began to relax. Pippin finally was quiet for once.

“Gwyn?”

“Yes?” Gwyn replied, inwardly begging him not to ask her other nosy question.

“Why are you living with Merry?”

That question sounded horribly inappropriate and wrong in the first second that Gwyn didn’t even wait to think about what Pippin could’ve really meant. She gasped and swung the bucket over Pippin’s head.

Unfortunately, Pippin was agile, and he ducked. The sopping bucket hit other target…a Hobbit lass that they didn’t notice walking across the road. The lass screamed and fell onto the dusty road, the bucket enveloping her head.

_Oops._

Gwyn rushed off the road and crashed into the forest as quickly as she could. Behind her, she heard the lass scream at Pippin for being the cruelest fool she’d ever seen. Gwyn felt sorry for Pippin, but she certainly wasn’t going to risk having a bad name on her once again.

Fifteen minutes later, somehow, either by pure luck or Eru might have led her; Gwyn found a familiar raspberry bush near the opening of the forests. She remembered that as the place where she first met Merry. Smiling, Gwyn pushed aside shrubs and branches and made her way out of the woods. Surprisingly, she even remembered where Merry first came from—walking from the right side of the road.

Making sure she paid attention this time, Gwyn easily found Merry’s house some five minutes later. She saw Merry sitting on his front step, and he was staring down at the ground.

“Merry?” Gwyn called out and waved. Merry’s head shot up, and his worried expression turned relieved. “Gwyn!” He quickly went down the steps and met her at his gate.

“Where have you been?” Merry demanded. Gwyn was taken aback by his slightly scolding tone.

“I—I was walking…I’m sorry, did I worry you?” Gwyn inquired warily.

Merry blinked and stepped back. He seemed to be unwilling to answer her question, and he brushed it aside. “It’s all right. Come on, it’s time for elevenses. Pip isn’t here yet...you seen him around?”

“Um,” Gwyn almost said _no_ , but decided against it. She didn’t want a repeat of the weeding incident. “Yes, I have.”

“Really? Where?” Merry peered down at her.

“Near downtown Hobbiton.” Gwyn mumbled.

“Is there something wrong?” Merry cocked his head.

Gwyn didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to get into trouble. “I…uh…tossed a water bucket at Pippin…but he ducked, and the water splashed a girl behind him…then…um…I ran away…and…the girl thinks…Pippin did it.” Gwyn admitted slowly, keeping her gaze down at her feet.

When she heard nothing from Merry, she peeked up. And Merry’s expression was amused, His blue eyes twinkled and he wore his cocky, dimpled smile that Gwyn hated.

But this time, Gwyn didn’t even feel like huffing indignantly and stalking off. Sighing, she flailed her hands slightly. “You’d better not be laughing at me, Meriadoc Brandybuck.”

Ironically, Merry snickered, dismissing her indignation and motioned her to follow him back to the house. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”

“Impossible Hobbit,” Gwyn spat under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

About half an hour later, Merry was helping Melonna put away the apples, grapes, and jars of cool water. Gwyn sat on the tall stool before the counter in the kitchen.

The front door opened suddenly, and a weary-looking Pippin came trudging into the kitchen. Gwyn cringed.

“Pippin? Is there something the matter?” Melonna asked, her jaw dropping in shock.

Pippin sighed heavily. “Well, I now know what it’s like being falsely accused. And being shoved into a ditch over the road.”

Merry clearly was trying to be sympathetic, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “Let me guess. Gwyn tried to throw water at you, but accidentally hit a stranger girl with it, and then she ran away, and this girl thought it was you?”

“Yes.” Pippin scowled and turned to Gwyn. “Why would you let that happen?” He objected.

Gwyn shrugged. “I am very sorry. I did not want a bad impression on myself.”

Pippin shook his head. “Well, as long as I never see her again, I should be fine. Hopefully she doesn’t complain to anyone about this.”

“Hey, Gwyn, did you hear anything the girl said to Pippin after you ran away?” Melonna asked, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

Gwyn opened her mouth, but Pippin shot her a begging gaze. She relented. “Um, I can’t say.”

“All right. Keep your secrets.” Merry grinned. “Ready to go, Pip?”

“Yes.” Pippin nodded. “Let’s go to my house to get the fishing poles. Do you have your own yet?”

“Yes, I do.”

While Merry retreated to his bedroom to retrieve his fishing pole, Melonna turned to Gwyn and asked, “What would you like to do while the lads are gone?"

Gwyn shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I can teach you how to cook.”

“I’d like that!” Melonna beamed. Pippin peered upon Gwyn curiously. “You can cook?”

“Yes.”

Pippin’s brown eyes lit up. “What kind of food?”

Melonna rolled her eyes. “Of course, if Pippin starts coming back here to eat, you’ll have to cook twice as much.”

“You exaggerate!” Pippin accused.

“I don’t think so.” Melonna crossed her arms and her lips curved smugly.

Merry walked into the room, lugging his long wooden fishing pole. “All right. Come on, Pippin!”

Pippin nodded and waved at Gwyn and Melonna. “Good day!”

A moment later, Merry popped back into the wide doorway. “Oh! Gwyn, would you mind cooking vegetable soup for dinner? We’ll have a fresh ham for supper.” He raised his eyebrows, awaiting her response.

“Of course.” Gwyn nodded, remembering to smile back even if it was not her nature to do so.

For the rest of the morning, the lasses prepared some leftover chicken Rosie Cotton had given Melonna earlier for lunch. Then after lunch, Gwyn took a nap and Melonna sorted through the clothes Frodo had given for Gwyn.

Melonna’s fingers bumped something hard and cold buried deep in the pile. She pulled the unknown object out, and saw a large gold round locket, about the size of her hand. She opened it, and inside it were two sketches of Hobbits—one was of Drogo Baggins, Frodo’s late father. The other was of Frodo himself, younger-looking, and a heart-melting smile on his face.

“What happened to you, Frodo?” Melonna muttered as she shut the locket and dropped it in her apron pocket. “You’re so sad and plain secretive. Why can’t you trust anyone?”

Brushing thoughts of Frodo aside, Melonna went on folding the twelve pieces of clothes—five church dresses, eight everyday skirts, eleven blouses, two aprons, and three fancy gowns for special occasions. Frodo’s parents apparently were rich. She then put them in organized stacks and put them in Gwyn’s room as quietly as she could.

She paused in the doorway to look upon Gwyn again. She was sleeping peacefully. The dark circles under her eyes would fade in time once she got accustomed to the normal hours of adult Hobbit sleep. Melonna drew in a short breath and tiptoed over to Gwyn. Leaning down slightly, she touched Gwyn’s black curls and nudged them away from her face.

“Soon, Gwyn,” Melonna whispered, “You’ll have to tell Merry. You can’t hide your past. I know your past, but I will not tell Merry. It’s up to you. Tell him soon…or let him find out for himself. One thing I will assure you, of course…Merry will understand, as long as you explain everything.”

Gwyn exhaled deeply, giving no response. She was deep in sleep. Melonna straightened and backed away. It was all right; she didn’t want Gwyn to hear her, anyway. Gwyn would only get defensive and refuse.

Later, Gwyn woke up for afternoon tea, which was her favorite time of the day. Gwyn just loved tea. And then the girls went outside and took a short walk, and Melonna helped her see how to determine the distance from certain places to Merry’s house. And then they came back to the Hobbit-hole, and Gwyn taught Melonna how to make vegetable soup. The results weren’t as bad as expected, but next time, Melonna would have to put in less peppers and try not to forget the carrots. After all, who likes hard carrots that were thrown in at the last minute?

Dinner was good, and supper was even better, because Gwyn warmed the chicken up nicely and made thick gravy for it. Pippin complimented Gwyn’s cooking, and asked if he could come back next time.

Merry and Gwyn went to bed early, since they both were tired. But Melonna stayed up two hours later and mended a pink flower-patterned yellow jumper dress for Gwyn. And then once finished, she retired to bed.

Drifting off to sleep, Melonna curled up in a corner under her sheets. Then a rustle outside her window startled her. Her eyes opened sleepily, and her head wobbled up, tilting to look out the window behind her at the left. But there was nothing. Sighing, Melonna let her head flop back into her pillow.

But the rustle happened again. Melonna’s eyes opened again, and this time she was quite alert. She leaned up on her elbow and stared out again. 

But there was still nothing.

Hesitating, Melonna slowly settled back…and then the rustle brought her up again. Almost frightened, she swept her feet out of bed and stood before her window and opened the square panes.

“Hello?” She called out. And there was no answer. 

“ _Hello?_ ” She tried again, her eyes wide and her ears listening closely. But her voice only seemed to echo hollowly across the lawn. The darkness out there was so silent, so still, and not even a breeze or a cricket was heard.

Befuddled, Melonna returned to bed. She was sure there was something…or someone…outside her window. And her mind refused to acknowledge the possible answer her heart was whispering. 

_It can’t be him. Not him._

Soon, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not hesitate to comment, criticize, or advise on anything. :-) I accept criticism as well as I accept compliments!
> 
> Have a nice day! :-D


	9. A Mystery Revealed and More Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have a somewhat filler chapter, we learn more about Ada, Rosie means well, bless her soul, but she isn't helping Frodo very much, and Frodo just needs a hug and some chocolate (and maybe a reality smack in the face).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for taking forever to update this!!! Life took an unexpected turn when my little brother became very sick and had to go to the hospital, so I was very busy with helping my family and all that. My brother is home now and all is well, though, thank God!!! :-)
> 
> Enjoy. :-D

Cecilius Whitfoot wasn't the kind of hobbit who would easily step in, take charge, and enjoy having others look up to him as a magnanimous leader. He didn't have a quick temper, and neither did he have an obsessive tendency to control things.

He didn't even want to be a healer. That was his father's job, not his. But since Father was sick, the oldest son had to take over the family clinic.

Cec was the peacekeeper of the family. While Gwyn just wanted to stay out of problems, Cec would try his best to settle down things…without looking too much of a leader. Peace. All he wanted was peace and quiet, but unlike his timorous sister Gwyn, Cec was more levelheaded and was willing to step into disputes and try to end them.

But as levelheaded Cec was, his desk was the opposite. Sighing, the broad-shouldered hobbit swept his hands across the papers, sprawled all over his heavy oak desk. He sorted out all the papers, by the patients' last names.

All of them were patient diagnosis forms: blank sheets of paper requesting only the name, date of birth, location, height, weight, and symptoms of ailments of each hobbit. Then after each appointment, Cec would study the problems, put them all together, research and match the clues to the nearest malady, and then the patient was diagnosed. Cec would take his feather pen and scribble down the problem on the bottom of the page, and then he would tell the patient what to do.

Cec wondered how Swanahilda Banks, his secretary, possibly could handle writing every form by hand, one after another with exactly the same things needed on them.

A knock sounded at the door, startling Cec. "C-come in," he called out.

The door peeked open, and Swan's white-blond head popped in uncertainly. "Hello!" She chirped timidly. Cec smiled warmly, trying to put her at ease. Ever since Gwyn's departure, Swan had taken it really hard and loathed herself for gossiping about such a private matter. She even cried out piteously that she wanted to quit her job, for she felt undeserving and foolish. But, of course, Cec had taken pity on her and insisted her small mistake wasn't exactly harmful, since Gwyn was able to disappear without public scrutiny hitting her first.

"Something up, Swan?" He asked suddenly, realizing Swan was probably tired of standing there, squished between the door and its frame.

"Oh, yes," the young secretary stepped in, her hands fiddling with each other. "Your lady friend came to see you. Are you busy?"

"Mira?" Cec asked, a bit too hopefully.

"Y-yes," Swan nodded, her dark green eyes glowing. "Sh-she seems worried."

"Send her right in," Cec smiled, trying to contain his enthusiasm and sudden concern.

Swan nodded hastily and rushed out of his office. Moments later, redheaded Donnamira Jumpswell sauntered in, her curls piled upon her head in an elegant fashion. "Cec!" She grinned cheerfully. "How are you?" In a nervous gesture, her hands brushed against her bright yellow skirt.

"I'm doing well," Cec nodded, pulling a chair from the wall to the front of his desk. "Please, sit down. How are you? Swan said you seemed worried."

Mira's lovely grin vanished as she took her seat. "I came up to your place this morning, hoping to have Gwyn take me berry-picking. But your mother was…er, less polite than usual, and told me to ask someone else. Then she, ah, slammed the door in my face."

Cec's eyebrows rose, acknowledging his mother's manner towards Mira. Not that Mother disliked Mira, but she did dislike Mira's father, who had shunned the Whitfoots from the community three years ago. Mother held a grudge against him.

"Mira, I'm sorry my mother was rude to you. Um, you don't know this, but Gwyn left Newbury nearly a week ago." Technically, it'd been only two days, but Cec had to conceal the fact Gwyn had been here very recently. Still, he hated lying to Mira.

But Gwyn saw right through him. Glaring, she leaned forward in her seat. "Oh, really? You seem to think otherwise."

Sighing, Cec folded his hand over each other, resting them on his desk. "Honestly, she was here…only briefly, two mornings' past."

"Well…briefly?" Mira questioned. "And why? And where did she go this time?"

"Why do you want to know?" Feeling antsy, Cec wished this discussion would change.

"Because she's my friend." Mira said simply.

Cec glanced at her, his elbow on his armrest, his finger on his cheek.

Mira stared at him silently for a minute, and then started, "I have to say this. I know you hate hearing her name, but I've longed to say her name for so long. Cec, it is not Gwyn's fault Ada and Ilberic died. I know the whole town thinks so. I know your mother has mixed opinions about it. But you have to stop letting Gwyn run away from what she needs to face and stand up for it."

Cec leaned back in his chair, struck by the simple truth.

Mira gazed at him with sorrowful eyes. "I loved Ilberic, you know. He was my only brother. And he loved Ada, and was willing to die for her."

"But they both did, anyway!" Cec burst out, both hating and loving the sound of Ada's name.

Mira shook her head. "I know Gwyn would not like being confronted. I know she would just leave. But—you, Cec, would not. You'll listen, would you? That's what Ada would do."

"Yes. Adaldrida would," Cec murmured the name—for the first time in three years.

Mira nodded slightly. " _Your_ sister. Would she want Gwyn to keep running and hiding?"

"No." Cec rubbed a hand across his eyes. "But how would Gwyn stand up for herself, if the village won't listen?"

"Why wouldn't they?!" Mira responded emphatically. "I doubt the villagers of Newbury actually despise your family, Cec. They fear mostly Gwyn only, because of what she did."

Cec slammed his fist on the desk, making Mira jump. "What Gwyn did was an accident. At least she isn't as cowardly as her brother."

"Odd," Mira snipped, "I'd assume Griffin would have the upper hand in defending his innocence; not Gwyn."

Taken aback by her cool retaliation, Cec leaned back into his chair, regarding her with wary eyes.

Mira bit her lip, fidgeted awkwardly, and then she stood to her feet. "Well, I'm sorry this hasn't ended up well, Cec. I only came to see if Gwyn was safe." With that, she flounced for the door.

Cec sighed loudly. "Wait!" He called out.

Mira stopped, with her back to him. Cec heard the doorknob creak; Mira's long fingers were resting on it.

"Gwyn is safe," Cec told her in a soft tone.

Mira turned around, her face half hidden by her long curls. "Truly? How do you know?" She answered seriously.

Cec realized how much Mira actually cared for Gwyn. _I was right. Mira's been the only true friend to Gwyn since Ada and Ilberic died._

"I shouldn't tell you where she is now, but the place she is at should be a safe haven for her. All you need to do is to pray for her, Mira."

Mira nodded. "All right. I will. Thank you." She smiled slightly and left the room.

Cec rubbed his forehead. He loved Mira and wanted to trust her with Gwyn's secret location…but how could he trust the daughter of the hobbit who hated the Whitfoots the most?

* * *

 

Frodo penned down the ending of his latest chapter. He just completed one of the worst parts—being stabbed at Weathertop. The process had been almost agonizing, because he had to go through his painful memories to write it. But he reminded himself that he was doing this for his beloved uncle Bilbo. And he planned to hand down this book to his dear friend Sam…that is, if there was any room left.

Sam would be heartbroken if he ever found out Frodo's plans for next year in September…he was leaving the Shire…Middle-earth…forever. His uncle Bilbo would come from Rivendell to Bag End to live here for one more year; in this following September, and then he and Frodo would make plans to leave.

Did Frodo want to leave? Yes…and no. He knew he'd lived his life here…but to leave who and what he loved here? Sam, most of all. Merry. Pippin. Even Rosie and Melonna. Bag End. The Shire. His friends from the Fellowship.

Sighing, he decided to move out of his depressing thoughts. Shutting the brown leather book, he rose from his chair and left the study, heading for the kitchen for some tea. Then he heard a knock at the door. It probably was Pippin for some food or Merry asking for help again. He just hoped it wasn't Melonna. He still was upset with her for her nosiness and temper from the other night.

But when he opened the door, he was surprised to see Rose Cotton smiling up at him, holding a small basket with a jar of honey in it.

"Hello, Miss Cotton," he bowed politely. "What brings you here? Is it Sam?"

"Call me Rosie, please," she replied. "And Sam is terribly worried about you. But you know how he is—shy. So he begged me to come up here and check on you. Are you doing all right?"

 _My dear Sam._ Frodo smiled. "Yes. Sam needn't have worried. I'm perfectly all right."

"That's good!" Rosie seemed relieved. "We brought you some honey." She held out the basket to him.

"Thank you," Frodo took it and admired the lovely amber color of the honey. It would be delicious with biscuits, for sure.

"Frodo?" Rosie inquired, her expression slightly unsure.

"What is it?" Frodo replied. When the lass hesitated, Frodo prodded her on gently, "It's all right. You can tell me."

"Well…Sam and I…we think—that is—we think you need to…try socializing more." Rosie mumbled uncharacteristically.

"Socialize more?" Frodo repeated mildly, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes." Rosie nodded. "I am not trying to be rude, but I think when you seclude yourself from your friends and just the general public, other hobbits are going to start to think you are very strange, or…at the very least…stuck-up."

 _Strange? Stuck-up?_ Frodo didn't know what to say. Clearly, Rosie didn't understand. Frodo sighed sadly. "Rosie…I…"

"What?" Her brown eyes darkened with concern.

"You don't understand…but Sam probably could." Frodo sighed deeply and held up his bad hand to let Rosie see. Her eyes widened.

"My hand…also my chest…I'm wounded outside and inside. For now…I just need time. Trust me, I do wish I could be more sociable…but not now. Will you please try to understand?"

Rosie nodded, clearly concerned but understanding. "Of course. I'll pray for you, Frodo."

Frodo nodded in thanks. He was about to close the door as she walked down the steps, but then she suddenly turned around. "Oh…Frodo. I forgot one more thing…" she smiled. "Sam wants you to be his best man."

Frodo smiled back. "Tell him I'd be honored." With a final inclination of his head, he closed the door.

Sighing, he retreated into the kitchen to make some tea. As he lit the fireplace (he had four in his home), his thoughts wandered over to that dark-haired girl who was living in Merry's house.

Gwynra Whitfoot. Who was she? Frodo just had a sneaking suspicion that there was something…not quite right about her. Something about that girl just rubbed him wrong. She acted so secretive; she seemed to want to avoid everyone. After all, normal hobbits didn't jump bump into people and then take off running in the opposite direction!

She was hiding something. Her dark eyes clearly said so.

Of course, Frodo wasn't going to act like the nosy, pompous Sackville-Bagginses and stick his nose into her business. He would reserve his judgment for now.

A sudden thought popped into his head. What if Merry was to fall in love with…Gwyn?

He smiled slightly. _And, sadly, I do not trust her enough to try to set her up with lonely Merry._

Pippin could do it. Frodo only hoped that Gwynra wasn't a threat to Merry or to anyone in Hobbiton.

What dark secret is she hiding, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 will be up tonight or sometime later this week!! :-D


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